I flew into Manchester last September with two suitcases, a head full of ambition, and the quiet hope that returning would help me rediscover the meaning missing from my life. It didn’t take long for the city to confirm it. The very next morning, as I made my way to orientation, I spotted them: squirrels, gloriously unbothered, frolicking through a carpet of colourful autumn leaves. I giggled to myself as the fond realisation sank in that Whitworth Park just might be my favourite place in Manchester.

A decade ago, I lived on nearby Haydn Avenue. Back then, the park was simply the green corridor between me and campus, pleasant but unremarkable. Now, returning as a postgraduate student for my MSc in Digital Transformation, Whitworth Park has become something else entirely: a daily ritual, an anchor, and genuinely, my happy place.

Most mornings, I walk through the park on my commute to campus. There’s something about stepping into the crisp air and hearing the birds going about their business that sets me up for the day. Headphones in, motivational music or podcast playing, I join the hordes of students trooping along on foot or on bikes. And when I’m running late, which happens more than I’d like to admit, I hop on a Starling bike and shortcut through, hoping it gets me to campus on time.

Living across the street means the park is also my view. I’ve cushioned my windowsill, and on rainy Manchester days (so basically, most days), I sit there with a warm drink and watch the park breathe. Some evenings, after hours on data strategy or change management frameworks, I look out and feel an almost ridiculous sense of relief. Because here’s the thing: Whitworth Park hasn’t changed. Not in the way everything else seems to be shifting quickly. The trees still go through their seasons with quiet authority, leaves gold, gone and back again, entirely on their own schedule. While I spend my days studying how organisations must adapt or risk being left behind, the park just carries on, indifferent to disruption. There’s something about that that’s deeply comforting.

Around three in the afternoon, the whole mood shifts. Kids from the adjacent Manchester Academy spill out, boisterous and brimming with energy, and the park hums with a different kind of life. Joyful, bustling, a little chaotic. Who needs a productivity hack when you’ve got that outside your window? Rusholme’s restaurants and supermarkets are a short walk away too, which means I’m never far from a taste of home.

This week, on a rare sunny Wednesday, I finally visited The Whitworth Art Gallery for the first time (I know, I know). It was calm, beautiful and culturally immersive. But as a Ghanaian-British, the real connection came when I saw the ABC Wax Archive. It’s a collection of West African wax prints manufactured in Manchester and exported to African markets for generations. They’re the kind of cloth I grew up seeing women carry babies on their backs with, or wear to church as Sunday’s best.

In the café, I watched the park through floor-to-ceiling glass, the bare trees vivid against the blue sky. The view was everything I’d imagined.

I stepped back outside and watched and fed the squirrels. The same gloriously unbothered creatures from that very first morning, six months ago. Some things don’t need to change at all.

Spring is coming, the birds are already getting louder, and I’m planning at least one picnic on that grass with a friend or two. After a semester of slides and digital deep-dives, we’ve earned it.

Written by Kennetha Brown, a current MSc Digital Transformation student.

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