In the moment without even knowing it.

Nowhere does “the moment” become more evocative to me then when I run along the Hudson River Park -- just a few blocks from my apartment. The “park” is really a long strip by the river on the West side of Manhattan. There, they have built up, repaired -- sometimes torn down and rebuilt -- the dilapidated piers.

Where once homosexuals hid in its darkest corners seeking hidden pleasures, there are trees and grass, playgrounds, and picnic tables. The city has been constructing it for several years now. I'm not sure when they decided to do that work. But, it seemed to have suddenly appeared one day -- and then it was completed. No fuss. No hand-wringing about the design, like we've seen at Ground Zero. They just built it.

For a few years, it was no more than a 10-foot-wide strip with lanes painted on it. For walkers and runners, blades and bikes. Beyond the chain link fence -- you could see the construction. Then finally at the end of May, the barriers were removed. It was a big doo-dah with the governor and the mayor and sundry elected officials.

One of the first sections developed was from about 18th to 23rd Streets. It is now called Chelsea Piers. That renovation involves several old piers, the site of some of New York City's richest history.

Once the home of the Cunard and White Star Lines -- it now houses a driving range. Once the place where Gloria Swanson posed for photographers, we now have a catering hall. You will find a bowling alley and a rollerskating rink along the same piers where Jesse Owens set off for the 1936 Summer Olympic Games in Berlin. For the soldiers of both World Wars -- it was here they departed and arrived from foreign lands. And, of course, this is where the Titanic was supposed to arrive in. Instead -- its survivors, wrapped in blankets and -- even in fading B&W photos we can tell -- in shock. All of these events are represented in huge pictures along Chelsea Piers.

All are a reminder of the fragility “The Moment.”