There are so many things you can say about December in New York. It is maddening – with the hoards of people, moving along the streets in swarms that you can not get around or, once embedded are stuck there. You get bumped and shoved along with the flow. You can’t drive anywhere without hours of commitment that you must give into. Stores are crowded and hot and if you have a Winter coat on, you can become overheated and cranky. Inevitably, you will go to a particular place to secure a gift for someone and they will no longer have it. It can be aggravating and you may find yourself questioning your sanity for such an attempt. And, in times such as this, the sadness of the loss of our sense of safety and the instinct to look at people’s faces as you trundle on down the avenues for signs of villainy, may take you over or even prevent you from going in the first place.
But, you can instead, go as I do, with the hope of whimsy and a sliver of merriment and to be lifted up. Instead of the more likely aggravation, you can be lifted up, into the spirit of those hoards of people – a spirit which is overwhelmingly an affirmation of the good in humanity as you stand there, as I did on Thursday evening in Rockefeller Center, and subtly feel your fears subside. You can listen to many different languages being spoken and gaze upon the countless sets of eyes lifted upwards, as an affirmation of the season, no matter your beliefs, and in such a common grouping of hope and trust in what is good in the world. No matter how you feel about what is going on in the world – angry, distrustful, fearful, bewildered, it is good to go out and be among others and feel the uplifting commonality passing among you. This, to me, is what December in New York means. This is what I felt the other evening in Rockefeller Center. It was ebullient and I am so glad I went.
I made it a point to stop and gaze upon the substantive police presence there, to see if I could absorb their aura – was it guarded and tense or was it relaxed and positive? As I spoke to a couple of them, they were chit-chatty. I offered them thanks and good wishes, and watched their faces as they visually patrolled the crowds. I felt their good-naturedness. Later, as I got stuck in the middle of an intersection, an officer approached my car and tapped on the window. Instead of giving me a tongue-lashing, he couldn’t have been nicer as he advised me on how to handle such an error the next time. He could have been so scolding and yet he wasn’t. Even at a time such as this, their citizenry was “as among” and not stilted in a negative way. They were a presence in shared purpose, I supposed, to allow for the enjoyment of all.
In several instants, as I stood in the crowds and positioned myself to take a picture or two, I wondered to myself if I should be afraid and, as I allowed this consideration to evaporate, I melded into the energy of the crowd.
New York has a special quality in December. If it is cold and crisp, it is invigorating and not at all off-putting. It is energizing to watch people striding along in what purpose you know not, in coats, hats and mittens. Parents hold the hands of their children and wait in line to see decorated windows. Whether you have a penny or an unlimited budget, you can stroll up and down the avenues and gaze upon the culmination of positive human energy that is of the season. It can be downright affirming and it can pull you out of the tensions of your everyday woes, list of tasks and responsibilities . And this too, gives me hope.
Earlier in the day, as I was making my way from Madison Avenue back over to 5th, I was stopped at a corner, waiting to cross and I happened to overhear three women, probably around my age, giggle to each other – “Oh, let’s go to Bergdorff’s!” as if they were going somewhere completely devilish and forbidden with a sense of glee that was palpable. I smiled to myself. Later, when I was walking down 53rd Street to my car, I passed a couple, clearly from another place and listened, as they were happily enumerating the places they had gone, and those they were bemoaning they hadn’t gotten to. As I passed, I overheard them saying, “Oh, we didn’t make it to Little Italy. Oh, next time, we will.” They said this with a sense of determination and hopefulness for the possibility of their next trip.
I have to tell you, that listening to people and watching their faces, as they were, maybe hundreds of them, necks craned, cellphones held high, taking videos of the light and music show on the facade of Saks, and their smiles as they just stood there and took it all in, there in and around Rockefeller Center, was worth all the aggravation of driving uptown earlier in the day, 45 minutes up (off peak) from the Holland Tunnel to midtown and another 45 minutes down again later, after dusk.
I left that day with a sense of centeredness and hopefulness, that the world will go on from here. And, in that I hoped, that all the sadness and tragedy in the world would not defeat the human spirit, be it completely frivolous, in acts sneaking off to Bergdorf’s for a merry scanning of material things that no one needs, to the simplest of gestures that is gazing upon a Christmas tree, laden with lights and surrounded with angels. I left feeling there was a reason for all of this, a reason so far beyond the surface of it all.
So, whatever you do this December, wherever you go, I wish for you the sensations I felt on Thursday evening in New York. Whatever your belief system or sense of spirituality, big or small, ritualistic or nominal, if you look for it, the thread still exists, that of the connection of being human, right there, in the sea of crowds in the center of commercialism, in the bedrock of Gotham. Some may and some may not need the structures of a particular doctrine, be it here or there. All we need is a sense of belonging to the human race, and a sense of hope left in our hearts.
I found this afterwards:
Christmas is not a time nor a season, but a state of mind. To cherish peace and goodwill, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas.
– Calvin Coolidge