So, I finally got around to checking out Flying Point Park the other day. Heard a bit about it, mostly just whispers, nothing grand. Figured, why not, got nothing better to do on a Tuesday afternoon.
Getting there was easy enough, not much traffic, which was a good start. Pulled into the parking lot, and it was, well, a parking lot. Nothing fancy. The park itself? It’s one of those places, ya know? A couple of benches, some trees that have seen better days, and a path that kinda winds around. I saw a sign, looked like it was put up in the 90s, all faded, saying something about local bird species. Didn’t see any exotic birds, just a few pigeons and a very bold squirrel that looked like it owned the place.
My Stroll and What I Noticed
I started walking. The path was mostly clear, a few cracks here and there. Some old guy was sitting on a bench, staring off into the distance. Looked like he was a permanent fixture. There was a small, slightly rusty play area – a swing set with one swing missing, and a slide that looked like it could give you a static shock just by looking at it. Standard stuff for a neighborhood park, I guess. Not exactly Disneyland.
I found a decent bench, wiped it down first – you never know – and just sat for a bit. Watched some clouds drift by. It was quiet, surprisingly quiet. That’s what got me thinking, actually. The quietness. It reminded me of this project I was on a few years back. Big, important project. Or so they said.
This whole thing was a “Flying Point” of its own, in a way. We were supposed to be developing this new system, gonna revolutionize the entire workflow, all that jazz. Management was all hyped up. We had meetings, so many meetings. They even ordered special pens with the project codename on them. Real fancy.
But then, nothing. We’d ask for resources, and they’d say “soon.” We’d ask for clear direction, and we’d get these vague, airy-fairy responses. It was like shouting into a void. The project team itself was pretty small, just three of us trying to build this massive thing. The budget kept getting “re-evaluated,” which is corporate speak for “slashed.” For months, it was just us, sitting in our corner, trying to make sense of it all, surrounded by this weird silence from the higher-ups. It felt like we were in our own little quiet, slightly neglected park, full of big promises but not much else. Just like Flying Point Park, in a funny way. Lots of potential, but kinda left to its own devices.
I remember our team lead, poor guy, he aged about ten years during that project. He’d go into these big strategy meetings all bright-eyed, and come out looking like he’d seen a ghost. Turns out, the whole “revolutionary system” was just a buzzword they threw around to look good for some quarterly report. They never actually planned to fund it properly. After about eight months of us spinning our wheels, they quietly pulled the plug. No big announcement, just an email saying our “efforts were appreciated” and we were being reassigned. Those special pens? Ended up in the back of my desk drawer for years.
So yeah, sitting there in Flying Point Park, with its quiet and slightly forgotten vibe, it all kinda came back to me. Not in a bad way, more like a “huh, that’s life” kinda way. Sometimes things are just… what they are. A bit underwhelming, a bit neglected, but still there.
I probably spent an hour at the park. Walked the path a couple more times. The squirrel was still there, probably judging my life choices. But it was okay. Sometimes you just need a quiet place to sit and let your brain unspool all the weird connections it makes. Flying Point Park wasn’t amazing, probably won’t be rushing back every week. But for that Tuesday afternoon, it did the job. Just a simple spot to be, and sometimes, that’s all you need.
