As a boy I grew up in Jersey City, not far outside of New York City. The distance from our apartment to the World Trade Center was virtually the same as between Hays and Lehman. While New York City captured the imagination of millions of people worldwide, for those of us who lived and breathed it regularly life was a daunting task. The eternal rat race and high cost of living often compounded the chip on the shoulder everyone had.
This attitude was exacerbated by the arrival of winter. Just as heat was known to make people a little crazy, the cold would make everyone a bit more angry. Understandable if you’ve ever bundled up several layers in your home with the heat blasting, then stepped outside for a frigid walk to the subway only to get to the station or on the train and be blasted with steaming air and body heat, all while wrapped in layers making your body temp akin to the surface of the sun, and then get off the train and walk through the blustery wind of the city to your office, and upon arrival be met, yet again, with sub Saharan heat pouring from the air system, still in your many layers. The flux between hot and cold is enough to make anyone crazy.
However, with the dawn of winter came the promise of the holidays. The true miracle of Christmas was that for a brief period, New York found itself magically transformed. Yes, into a winter wonderland of grand decoration and spirit but most importantly into a selfless, charitable, good tempered oasis amidst the bustling Northeast Corridor. While this infectious spirit belied the true nature of the Big Apple, those who partook in city festivities relished the December detente.
