It was supposed to be a simple Sunday. You know — oat milk latte, my favorite vintage Céline trench, and a leisurely stroll through Central Park because I saw a Pinterest board titled “Autumn Walks That Feel Like Nora Ephron Films.” And honestly, who doesn’t want to be the main character from a rom-com?
What I didn’t expect was to walk directly into someone’s marriage proposal.
Yes. That happened.
The Scene
I had just wandered into the Bethesda Terrace area — which, by the way, if you’ve never watched the way the light filters through that place at golden hour, you are missing something spiritual. There was a cello player softly playing something that I think was a Coldplay song (but the string version? Super fancy). Birds were chirping, leaves were falling like confetti from the gods, and I was doing my standard Sunday power-strut-while-pretending-to-be-in-a-fragrance-commercial routine.
Then bam. Literally. A bam.
I tripped over what I thought was the world’s heaviest pigeon and realized it was… not a pigeon, but a very real, very sparkly engagement ring box.
Which was OPEN.
Sitting next to a man on one knee.
With a woman gasping in front of him.
And me? Right in the middle of their moment, like some rogue extra in a Hallmark movie wearing entirely-too-loud boots.
The Chaos
I did what any self-respecting New Yorker with a little flair for the dramatic and a lot of Sephora highlighter would do:
I screamed.
“OH MY GOD HE’S PROPOSING!!!”
Yes, out loud. In case anyone within a five-block radius hadn’t caught on.
The couple was startled for, like, a second. Then — and honestly, I’m tearing up writing this — the girl started laughing. Like, full-body, shoulders-shaking laughter. She looked at the guy, looked at me, and said, “Okay, now I HAVE to say yes. Central Park and a style icon?”
Stop. It. Right. Now.
The Aftermath
Once I helped retrieve the ring (seriously, those little boxes can bounce), we hugged — yes, I group-hugged strangers, and I was okay with it — and someone offered to take a photo of the three of us. Guess who looked like she was the one proposing?
Me. It was me.
So here I am, looking like the third wheel in the most romantic picture ever taken. It’s cute, though. I tagged them on Instagram because yes, we exchanged handles. One of them is now following my outfit-of-the-day series and said, quote:
“If it weren’t for your boots, we might’ve missed our moment.”
You hear that? My Steve Maddens made true love happen.
What I Learned
Let me be serious for just a second. Living in New York can be overwhelming. It's loud and wild and smells like bagels and ambition. But sometimes? You turn a corner and you’re smack dab in the middle of something beautiful.
And when that happens, don’t apologize. Don’t back away. Lean into it. Even if it means crashing proposals in your cashmere scarf and smudged eyeliner.
Sometimes magic doesn’t wait for an invitation.
Where We Go From Here
- I’m 100% planning a "Crashing Proposals" vlog series. Kidding. Kind of.
- I’ve now added “engagement encourager” to my LinkedIn skills.
- And yes, I’ve already picked out the dress I’m wearing to their wedding. (No white. Who do you take me for?!)
Until next Sunday, Central Park. I’ll be the one making rom-coms out of chaos.
xoxo,
Rachel 💋
P.S. If you've had any moment in New York that felt like it was scripted by the universe, drop it in the comments. I live for those.
