New York is screaming Christmas this evening in all of the unpleasant ways I dislike, the fake glitz and glamour, tinny music, anxious and irritable passersby, the myriad things that make the season a garish shop-extravaganza rather than time to slow down a little and notice the beauty of miniscule details. Or it was until I stepped into Starbucks, where the music seems muted by comparison to what's blaring off of the streets.
It's probably not bad at all, actually, I should keep some perspective. I had a gorgeous Thanksgiving weekend with my family upstate, as my previous posts indicate. Relaxation, laughter, the incredible feast associated with a harvest festival of bounty and gratitude and delight. Family and friends, hobbies and music, good reading and games. Yesterday was the first time I actually haven't wanted to come home since moving to the city.
Not that I don't love New York with every cellular fiber of my body. Not that I don't adore my little home, and my never-what-I-expect neighborhood. Not that I didn't have an absolutely spectacular day at work, with awesome colleagues and tremendous partnerships. But I love my family, and without them the city is a little lonely. Without the 8 people who mean most, 8 million strangers are a little lacking.
Good thing my friends invited me out to play, or I might get maudlin.
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