THE ART OF MOVING DIFFERENTLY: A SOFTER PACE IN FAST SPACES

February does not believe in easing in. Black History Month. Valentine’s Day. NBA All-Star Weekend. Mardi Gras. New York Fashion Week. The calendar fills quickly. The city moves faster. Navigating it all requires thought.

In September 2024, when I was first diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, I assumed that pace would no longer be mine to keep.

Instead, I’ve learned to move differently.

These photos were taken during Fall Fashion Week in New York last September. Anyone who has done Fashion Week knows it is not one location. It is Manhattan to Brooklyn. Harlem to Queens. Venue to venue. Sidewalk to subway to cab. It is glamorous, yes. It is also 20,000 steps and very little sitting.

That’s where the adjustments come in.

Living with MS has not removed me from the room. It has refined how I enter it and, more importantly, how I leave.

There are always flats in my bag. Sometimes I switch mid-moment, heel off, sneaker on, right there on the steps between shows. Not dramatic. Just self-aware.

If there’s a ledge, I sit. If there’s a cab, I take it. If the schedule feels heavy, I trim it.

I used to measure presence by endurance. How long I could stay. How many events I could attend. How many blocks I could walk in one night.

Now I measure it by sustainability.

A softer pace in fast spaces does not mean shrinking. It means choosing longevity over performance. It means calling Uber instead of walking 10 extra blocks just to prove you can. It means attending one show fully rather than three halfway. It means listening when your body says, “That’s enough for today.”

I still love the hustle and bustle. The fashion. The movement. The energy of it all. The difference is that my energy is managed with the same care as my wardrobe.

MS has taught me that accommodations are not limitations. They are architecture.

And architecture determines how long a structure stands.

So yes, I rest between experiences. I hydrate. I leave early when needed. I protect tomorrow’s energy instead of spending it all tonight.

Moving differently has become its own kind of elegance.

There was a time when I thought my diagnosis meant I would have to disappear. That I would slowly fade from the spaces that once defined me. Instead, I’ve discovered something quieter and more powerful.

I don’t have to match the city’s pace to belong in it. I don’t have to exhaust myself to prove I’m present.

A softer pace does not make life smaller. It makes it sustainable.

And sustainability, for me, is the new luxury.