This morning as I was trudging down 15th Street, crammed between the stench of Chelsea Market and what feels like the world’s most long-lived construction site, I passed a hard-looking black guy bounding down the rain-shrouded sidewalk exactly, and I mean exactly, like this:
The vision of his cartoonish joy coupled with the remnants of my own vacation contentment nudged the day into “good,” perhaps even “great,” and I couldn’t help but feel optimistic for the coming year.
This is especially surprising given that ahead of us lies the coldest phase of winter in New York. Plus, it appears to me as though the throngs of tourists clogging up the streets prior to Christmas have barely diminished. As anyone who has visited New York in the month of December knows, pre-Christmas in the city is what Dante based his Inferno on.
Nonetheless, and despite the fearful nature of our political future, there’s a sense of renewal and positivity in the air. Each interaction with a stranger is accompanied by a “Happy New Year!” and there seems to be the ghost of a smile on more than the usual number of faces.
Or maybe I just accidentally took more than one dose of Lexapro this morning.
Either way, it’s cool with me. I hope y’all are feeling good this evening; and if you’re not, at least your roommates aren’t watching a TV show with a laugh track on it. That’s all.