A Christmas story

Perhaps it was the unusually warm weather that New York has been experiencing over the past few weeks.

Perhaps it was the loud Christmas carols playing in my usual deli before Thanksgiving.

“A little early with the carols,” I said to the cashier at the time. He smiled and nodded.

“Cheerful,” he added. He doesn’t speak much English.

Perhaps I’m just getting older or maybe just more cynical.

It could be the recent loss of my girlfriend, the realization that we aren’t getting back together, and that I would spend this holiday season without a love to share it with.

But Christmas just seemed to be more about spending money and much less about family and good cheer. And it seemed like it was coming too early this year, way too early.

It started to stress me out.

I have been busy with a few small jobs and very focused on the projects in front of me. Christmas was just going to get in the way.

“Do you think I could just skip it?” I said to a friend as we walked down the street in sweaters, feeling like spring.

“Why would you want to do that?” he asked.

“The holidays should be like the Olympics,” I joked. “Then maybe I’d be more excited about them. It seems like it just was Christmas.”

In the evening, it turned cold, very cold. I shivered my way back to the subway, wishing I had brought my jacket and deciding to buy a scarf from a guy on the street.

“It had to turn cold?” I asked of no one.

When I reread the above words, it seems that I am falling into the stereotypical Christmas story. It seems like by the end of the story I will have remembered the spirit of Christmas and gone dashing through the streets belting “Jingle Bells.” But this is not my Christmas Carol, and I am far from Mr. Scrooge.

I have begun to personify a character for New York City. Recently, I find the city angry with me. It shuts me down. I miss trains. Step in puddles and jump at every loud noise. My phone dies before I can meet up with a friend and I trudge back to the train. It’s amazing how lonely I can feel on a crowded subway¾when it finally comes.

My roommate brought home a small kitten that night. He let it out in the living room; it timidly poked a small gray head from the traveling case. She was very small and she made me smile.

A few days later, Molly, as we would eventually decide to name her, was bounding around our house like one of the family. She sat on my lap and kept me company while I edited and I asked her many times what she thought of my work. She stared at me disapproving, always demanding better. But Molly’s love was unconditional, and she was happy to just be in my lap.

The next day, the city is pleased with me. Its sidewalks shimmer. The sun beats down and the wind chills my cheeks. My phone rings with every opportunity and makes me remember why I moved here. A girl smiles at me on the subway and the city feels small and manageable. I cross the street with ease, breezing past tourists who stop to look at vendors. I wrap my new scarf around my neck. The city and I are at peace.

I haven’t done any Christmas shopping yet. I should start thinking about it anyway. I want to get it done before the city’s mood shifts so I can brave the lines and wrapping.

But perhaps the city mood isn’t much more than a reflection of my own feelings. Maybe it’s only angry because I’m angry. Perhaps I should give more credit to perspective.

We hang lights in our living room. They flash irregularly on the railing of the stairs. And it really does brighten things up.

And here’s the part where I might insert the mushy “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Hanukah” or “Holidays” or whatever the best thing is to say. And I’m torn between really wanting to end the column that way. But I don’t want this one to be superficial and canned; I don’t want this to be my version of any other story.

I didn’t go bounding through the streets singing. But I did come to terms with the fact that Christmas is at times about spending money, and it is stressful.

But somewhere in there is a break from everyday life. Somewhere is the spirit of giving, and finding it is the hard part. But it’s there, if you look.