Auld Lang Syne

I am superstitious about a number of strange things. I believe that bad things will happen if I hear "Black" by Pearl Jam (I finally smartened up and took it off my iPod, hoping to foil the karmic gods of grunge music). I hesitate when the 28th of each month rolls around ... and breathe a sigh of relief when I make it through unscathed. And when it comes to holiday superstitions, I believe that your New Year's Eve will be reflective of the year to come.

So evidently my heat broke in the middle of the night. My last apartment had two operating temperatures - 50 and 95. It was always super hot unless it was windy, in which case the draft through the windows would knock it down to "really freaking cold." Needless to say, I was super excited to live in an apartment with central heat and a thermostat ... until the furnace decided to break. And in the grand scheme of how things work in NYC apartments, my landlord (who speaks Albanian) sent in a "friend" who lives in my building (and speaks Yugoslavian) to fix the heat. It's nearly 3 p.m. and I still don't have working heat. I'm not entirely sure if or when I will.

The first question of superstitions is this: does that one about New Year's Eve apply to the whole day or just the romantic-at midnight part of it? In other words, is my 2010 already doomed or is there still time to salvage it?

Regardless, it brought something else to the front of my mind about resolutions. Year after year, I make a list of generic resolutions - often so many that it would be impossible to actually remember them, let alone make them happen. So this year, I am trying something different.

In 2010:
I am going to learn to take things as they come and try not to let details overwhelm me or stress me out.
I am going to focus on what is good and positive in my life, rather than thinking about what is missing or what would theoretically make it better.
I am going to recognize my own accomplishments for what they are, instead of thinking that I should always be doing more or better than I am.
I am going to set realistic goals for my own success - and realize that making it halfway there isn't a total loss or failure.

And most importantly, I am going to work harder on being present. I have a tendency to live my life either judging in retrospect or looking ahead without a plan. And much like today, I wonder how my life passes me by, where the year has gone.

I remember this day last year like it was yesterday. I remember thinking about everything that wasn't what it supposed to be, yet being too scared to move forward. I spent the next months looking back, rather than focusing on what was happening in real time, and repeated my mistakes. And if I wasn't looking back at something and trying to figure out what could have been different, I was blindly looking ahead - escapism - for the next great thing to happen.

Is this the perfect New Year's Eve? Not so much so far. But you know what, it could definitely be worse. Here comes the reality check: if I had heat yesterday, hopefully I should be able to have heat again. And while it could end up being a completely wicked inconvenience, it's not the end of the world.

I have a roof over my head. (And a pretty awesome place to live, when there is heat ...)

I have a job that allows me to help people who face much bigger challenges than I do and helps keep my pity parties in check.

I have great friends and a wonderful family who remind me what love really means.

And throughout all the mess of this day, someone is still managing to make me smile.

So when the clock strikes twelve, whether it was a good New Year's Eve or a not so good one, superstition be damned. I am going to have a good 2010.

"Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When it's exactly twelve o'clock that night
Welcoming in the New Year, New Year's Eve
Maybe I'm crazy to suppose I'd ever be the one you chose
Out of the thousand invitations you receive
And though I know I'll never stand a chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance
What are you doin' New Year's, New Year's Eve?"


- "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve"

The Secret to Happiness

"If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad
If it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad?"
- "If It Makes You Happy"
Sheryl Crow

Everyone who spends time with me, especially during the winter months, knows one thing. I am a native New Yorker, but I don't love New York.

There, I said it.

I should feel guilty about that, right? After all, don't people dream of living here? Come here with nothing but a bus ticket and a dream? Or is that a movie plot from Lifetime ...

Either way, it turns out that I'm not the only one who isn't in an "Empire State of Mind" - in a recent state-by-state study of happiness, New Yorkers came in last. Dead last. As this NYT article so eloquently states, "If there were a National Happy League, we’d be the New Jersey Nets. We’re No. 51 out of 51."

Here's a bit of methodology: "One was a survey of 1.3 million Americans done over four years by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which asked people about their health and how satisfied they were with their lives. Those self-assessments ... included state-by-state variances on quality-of-life gauges like climate, taxes, cost of living, commuting times, crime rates and schools ... people knew what they were talking about when they said if they were happy or not. Americans who described themselves as satisfied tended to live in places where the quality of life was good by most standards — where the sun shone a lot, the air was reasonably clear, housing didn’t leave you busted, traffic wasn’t too fierce and so on."

I would love to have answered these questions. Let's see - the East Side air quality isn't so good, so I shouldn't be running outdoors. But a gym membership will knock me back at least $70/month on my already beyond overstretched budget. Climate? 2009 was awesome. It rained the entire month of June and we had a blizzard the other day. Cost of living? Not only insane, but we are conditioned to rationalize that its totally worth $2K in rent for a one bedroom apartment because it has a dishwasher. Commuting times? Well, let see. The MTA's doomsday budget eliminates one of the two trains that I can take into the City, beginning this summer.

Okay. So I am being really Debbie Downer. I get it.

Last week, there was this awesome post on Gawker touting the new issue of New York, which included everyone's favorite annual treat,"Reasons to Love New York." As Gawker so rightfully states, "an exercise in NYC boosterism which we must grudgingly salute, ourselves being sometimes given over to that overwhelmed feeling of 'why the f*ck am I here'—a feeling which is probably most effectively addressed by making just such a list. (Because there are so many reasons!)" My personal favorite is #43 - Because We Keep Digging. Good news, folks, in 2017 there will be an East Side subway line and you will no longer be forced to ride the 6 train at 7 a.m. with your face lodged in a fellow commuter's (or crackhead's) armpit.

And to continue giving credit where credit is due, I love Gawker's take on this study. "Research Question: Why are New Yorkers miserable? Hypothesis: Because New York is not a pleasant place to live." And even better, the last line - "Although this entire line of inquiry is based on the false assumption that New Yorkers give a sh*t about being happy."

I think that about sums up what makes me unhappiest about New York - even more so than the weather, commuting or the rent on my apartment.

It's the attitude that you develop when you're here. Just like that, you don't care anymore. You get irritated every morning in the 59th Street subway station when people surreptitiously "merge" in line for the escalator, rather than waiting in line. You can't walk at a leisurely pace - leisurely here is considered speedwalking in any other place. You hate when people order or pay slowly, even when you have nowhere to be. You forget how to smile. Because quite frankly, smiling at strangers is just flat out creepy. People get away with it in other places. I think I did it in San Diego. I don't think I creeped anyone out. (Maybe.)

So what does it all mean? Who really is happy? According to this study, "People in sunny, outdoorsy states - Louisiana, Hawaii, Florida ..." Louisiana? Seriously? I think they are mostly overweight, too. Hawaii? I can believe that. They also pay about $16 for a gallon of gas. Florida? You have to escape New York to move to a sunnier (and more humid) version of it and suddenly everything is okay?

Everyone who knows me well knows that I always wanted to live in California. Put quite simply, it is my happy place.

Interestingly enough, it ranked 46th in the study. Why?

"Many people think these states would be marvelous places to live in. The problem is that if too many individuals think that way, they move into those states, and the resulting congestion and house prices make it a non-fulfilling prophecy."

So, I-love-New-Yorkers, what makes you happy in a place that does everything in its power to make you miserable? Is it the ability to get food delivered at any hour, even in a blizzard? Is it the fact that anywhere else you go, NY's version of "it" (museum, restaurant, theate) is simply better? Is it the feeling you get when the Yankees won the World Series this year, when you hear "New York, New York" that even when you don't love New York, you're proud of it?

You tell me.

"If I can make it there
I'll make it anywhere"
- "New York, New York"
Frank Sinatra

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

I remember exactly when my dad told me that there was no such thing as Santa Claus.

Ironically (or maybe a good idea on his part), we were on our way to Santaland in Macy's Herald Square, headed up one of those rickety old wooden escalators that only exist in the upper floors of the store.

Logistically, I knew better. After all, I was the kid who left a letter once asking why Santa and the Easter Bunny had the same handwriting. I once called my parents out for "being cheap" - after all, all of my relatives gave me presents. Santa brought me presents. But not them, no. They must just be cheap.

While all the signs pointed to his nonexistence, I believed simply because I wanted to. The fairytale of the Christmas season began when McDonald's started playing its commercials and the Sears toy catalog arrived in the mail. I remember painstakingly making lists for toys that Dad would have to assemble at midnight with Japanese instructions. I remember my aunt trying to explain that she didn't buy me a Pogo Ball because they weren't safe and it was for my own good. I remember when my parents would let me open one present on Christmas Eve to keep me from waking them up at some ungodly hour the next morning and when we eventually switched over to celebrating on Christmas Eve.

Being in New York City everyday tends to make the holiday season feel commercialized and "unspecial." You get caught walking behind ten times as many clueless tourists and shopping in the stores is an unthinkable option. Hearing that Mariah Carey Christmas song hundreds of times makes me want to go deaf. And there is a part of me that gets caught up in the fact that the holidays can make you feel lonely; they can make you miss people who are no longer with you.

But then there is the part that makes you remember what makes it special.

I love Christmas lights. For some unknown reason, I love garish lighting displays and enormous lit trees.

I love decorating the tree at my parents' house and reminiscing over the 30 plus years of ornaments, including ones they made together before my brother and I were even born. I adore my parents' nativity set (which I believe belonged to my grandma) that, for some reason, has two Jesuses and about seven wise men. Perhaps there was a fire sale that year.

I love my parents' stories of how I was once punished on Christmas morning for drawing a marker moustache on a baby doll I had just been given, and the time they thought it would be funny to give me and my brother coal. Or, when my brother and I took Jesus from the nativity set and rode him on the fire truck we had gotten.

I cherish old family traditions. I remember when my nanny was alive and we celebrated Christmas Eve in a big way. Christmas Eve dinner, eaten after Mass, was an amalgamation of all of our favorite foods - namely: lobster tails, twice baked potatoes, string beans and Carvel ice cream cake.

I look forward to new traditions. This is the second year of celebrating Christmas Eve with my sister-in-law's family - who nobody can rival for a good time. It is a night filled with food, drinks, Secret Santa gift exchanges and a "12 Days of Christmas" singing/acting competition (you have to be there to get this one ...)

I get it, why people get caught up in the commercialization of the holiday, and can't see what there is to love about it. It all just comes down to stepping back and remembering a time when things were simpler and everything seemed like magic. Being grateful for family and friends and all the good things that we truly have. Thinking about someone who makes you smile.

And maybe again, it's time to believe in Santa Claus, instead of adding up all the reasons that you shouldn't.

"It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won't see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you"
- "Fairytale of New York"
The Pogues