I was riding an elevator somewhere recently (idk where, it’s been a long life) and overheard two coworkers talking about how quickly it all goes by. Coworker A, in the J. Crew statement necklace, mentioned rather wistfully that “the older you get the faster it goes” to which the gentleman to her left, Coworker B, replied “isn’t that the truth.” It was at this point they both turned to me, their faces pivoting expectantly in my direction, awaiting what I assume was my agreement or support. Not much of a joiner, and likely perturbed by the small space in which these strangers attempted to make contact with me, I smiled (read: grimaced) and continued to fiddle with my airpods/finger nails/phones/anything until I was mercifully released onto whatever floor to go do whatever it was I was doing that day.
The truth is, J. Crew necklace was right, it does go by fast. I’m pretty sure the week of Thanksgiving passed by in 2 hours, one of which I spent consuming Bud Lights and Pinot Noir at a clip even the most ardent holiday alcoholic would balk at. I’m half kidding, and to be honest I learned a lot this past week, as we often do when spending time with those who know us best. Don’t worry, though, this isn’t one of those posts… I just wanted to remind everyone to consider life’s fleetingness as we all dive deeper into the holidays.
The holidays! My favorite subject. As I write this, I’m sitting in a bar at the Arthouse hotel on the Upper West Side. Back so soon courtesy of my company’s annual holiday soiree, evidently the bender continues. It’s funny walking around my neighborhood after leaving the place I lived for the past nine years. It’s been exactly one minute since I posted my incredibly dramatic Instagram story montage last week saying goodbye, so I’m not sure what I expected to feel. Sadness? Loss? Honestly it still feels like I still live here, so I guess I should give it a second to sink in before any emotional declarations are made.
Last night, for old times’ sake, I suggested my local favorite, E’s, as an afterparty locale to continue our festive revelry. I decided to walk by my old building on the way there. At sea level on West 82nd Street I found myself looking up at the fifth floor. I could see the windows of what used to be my office and bedroom, and those of the kitchen where, if we’re being honest, I spent no time at all LOL. Walking around the corner to Amsterdam, the windows of my living room came into view. I love those windows, old and arched, the perfect frame for a Christmas Tree. Last night, though, all of the windows were dark, the apartment finally vacant for the first time in almost a decade.
I felt sad for a moment, but then felt the buzz of my phone. Steve was sending pictures of Hudson rapid-fire, per usual. They both were at home in Massachusetts frolicking in the still-falling snow. Apparently Hudson had recovered from the horrific bout of gastroshitstorm-itis I had the pleasure of scraping off the entryway floor prior to my departure. In one of the pictures I see Steve’s house in the background. It’s set back and snow blankets the roof and surrounding yard. The landscape seems to merge seamlessly into the clouds above, causing the entire scene to glow.
And just like that, a pang of real homesickness hit me. It was a sensation I hadn’t felt since college, one I now only experience when my whole family is together without me. You know the feeling, it’s a mix of jealousy, helplessness, love, and something else. That final component doesn’t have a name but it’s distinct. It’s the pull to return back as soon as possible. And beneath the shadow of the building I once called home, I felt an invisible tether pulling me north. I couldn’t wait to get home.
Tonight, after yet another work sponsored holiday event, I found myself walking around my old neighborhood again. This time, however, instead of trying to conjure an artificial feeling of despondence, I took a deep breath and made sure to remember every detail. Waving goodnight to Javier, my friend who works nights selling roses on the corner below my old apartment, I headed to my favorite bookstore. On the left I passed my favorite stoop in the neighborhood, it’s steps still decked out with gourds and pumpkins festively lining the entrance, in need of a Christmas makeover.
While at Book Culture, I lingered over a carousel of NYC themed ornaments. Subway cars with wreaths between their doors, a taxi cab with a Christmas tree affixed to its roof, and a group of Rockettes all high-kicking on a pond in central park were among them. I chuckled thinking about each in real life, so far from the resident user-experience while capturing the magic of the city perfectly. The thought of leaving these strange dichotomies and cultural nuances learned over so many years here made my stomach flip.
As I made my way around the neighborhood I found myself back at E’s. Tonight though, I didn’t go in and just stood taking in the scene from the sidewalk. Familiar faces inside were laughing to the beat of Private Eyes, only stopping to appropriately double and single clap during the chorus. The bartenders, now close friends of mine, revolved around one another like opposing magnets drawn to waiting patrons at the bar. How many nights had I found myself standing in this very spot as I entered or exited the bar? Too many and not enough, what I’d do for one more of those random E’s nights that seemed to fall together out of nowhere. Brucey you know the one I’m thinking about, blinking Christmas necklaces around our necks, idiotic smiles, the best times.
Finally, I made my way back to the hotel, the Christmas tree stands along the way popping up like jolly mile markers on my journey. I thought about going home. How tomorrow night we’re getting our Christmas tree. I looked up to scan the buildings as I made my way down Broadway, and noticed the white lights of Christmas trees in many of the windows above. The glow of the triangular silhouettes that dotted each building’s facade made them look like they, too, were wrapped in a string of Christmas lights. It reminded me of my new home, the new neighborhood, and the houses we pass each night as we walk Hudson, each adorned in lights and garland for the holiday.
Moving amidst the frenzy of the holidays has made my departure from New York City easier in some ways and harder in others. On the one hand, the decorations and parties offer distractions and a cover, ultimately subduing the magnitude of the life change I just made. But making this transition during Christmas has also been difficult, the added festive dynamic another column on all of our To Do Lists, it seems all my time is spent taking care of house-related tasks until further notice. I just have to remember that soon enough my stuff will be mixed in with Steve’s and find it’s place in the house, our time will not always be spent designating new locations for meaningless items, and in the end it will all get done in time for Christmas.
So, tomorrow as I wait for the branches of our new tree to fall into place I need to remember to focus on the things that matter. Not whether or not our Christmas ornaments match (no joke) and not that there are still boxes that need unpacking. Thankfully, the crisis of whose star will go on top has been averted. Steve’s wins by a landslide. It’s a mix of crystal, gold and silver, and unexpectedly perfect. And with that, I head to bed – to dream of my tree, the perfect star, and a life wrapped in Christmas lights.
The Dog Hair Diaries 