Bonus: Walking through Manhattan on Christmas Eve

Happy New Year, readers! I started this entry on Christmas Eve and abandoned it until today. Sorry for taking two weeks off; it wasn’t my intention, but it was what I needed. After all, both holidays fell on Mondays. I’m calling today’s send a bonus entry because it has a less conventional format (extremely long narrative/diary and nothing else), plus today isn’t Monday.

The holidays host both extremely involved familial moments as well as some of the best phone scrolling you will ever do. Phone dopamine hits different on Christmas. I hope to revive that within you today.

I have always had complicated feelings about Christmas. Jewish mom, Catholic dad…you know the vibes. I’ve never considered myself a “cashew” (Catholic Jew; yes, this is a real thing) although I always did Christmas Eve dinner and other festivities with my dad’s side of the family. None of the Jesus stuff and all of the food/presents stuff. Despite this inclusion, I always felt very isolated during the winter holidays. My family was the only Jewish one at my elementary school crawling with Catholics, and I got territorial about the whole shebang.

As I’ve grown and learned to just let people enjoy what they want, I found a lot about Christmas to like. Songs, food, gifts, lights…all of the things I like about Hanukkah are present in spades for Christmas. It’s fun to be festive and be a part of your community! There is a lot that I feel separate from, but I fostered my own traditions I enjoy — both Jewish (Chinese food and movies) and not (walking around Christmas markets and marveling at big trees in public places).

And just as I started to like Christmas, I found a new bone to pick with it. A few days before Christmas three years ago, I stopped talking to my dad. This week always stings because of how much has changed. I spent the past two Christmases (and Eves) in New Hampshire because the news doesn’t take a day off. I would work and go back to my apartment alone to enjoy some takeout. It was a sad state of affairs.

This year, staying in New York felt like a no-brainer. I spent two weeks in Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving, I am famously Jewish, and I thought it could be fun if my mom came up to see what Christmas in New York is like. She came for two days, but that’s still a lot of time alone. Earlier last week, I realized I probably made a mistake. Most of my people are home with their families, and I ditched mine without a thought.  

I had a bit of a spiral the Friday before Christmas that I healed with long, slow workouts and a Saturday with the stragglers that remained here. I spent Saturday walking all over Bushwick. It was wild to see what the neighborhood was like without the transplants and gentrifiers. So many people were out and about with their loved ones eating, shopping, and dancing in the street. I felt like I was in on a little secret. It was certainly the most holiday spirit I felt that month!

After a late night, I woke up at 11 a.m. unsure of what my day would hold. Would I hang out with fellow stragglers? Watch even more episodes of The Sopranos? Take a long walk? That last option seemed to be the best…but where to go? But I had a nagging urge…do the Manhattan Top to Bottom Walk.

For my non-New Yorkers, tourists and residents delight themselves in what I’ll just call the Top to Bottom walk for the rest of the entry. People walk around 12 (sometimes more) miles from one end of Manhattan to the other — spanning a plethora of neighborhoods — in what is also referred to as the New York Tip to Tail or the Broad City Challenge since the girls completed the journey in an episode. Some people walk from the bottom to the top, but I’d rather take the long train ride at the beginning of my day and end in a place with more train lines.

I’ve been fascinated by this walk since watching the Broad City episode in high school. When I moved here, I dreamed about completing this challenge. I have multiple friends whom I made hypothetical plans to do this with. I’ve done two segmented versions of it on my own that were core moments of my year. For those curious: 1. 103-ish and Broadway down Ninth Avenue to Battery Park this spring and 2. 86th and Lexington > Central Park > near the end of Frederick Douglass Boulevard > some park with a ton of stairs > along the Hudson through Fort Tryon Park > Inwood ‘til the bridge to the Bronx this summer. I did both of these walks solo and saw so much of New York I hadn’t before.

I left my apartment a bit unsure of my fate. The challenge felt daunting, especially since I woke up late and thought of the walk on a whim. I assumed this would be something I would start early after planning thoroughly with a gaggle of friends. I walked to the subway and transferred to the A train once I hit Manhattan. The last express stop is Inwood-207th Street, which is near the top of the island. If I wanted to start a walk earlier, I’d just get off of the train. But I didn’t.

I’m going to tell you everything about my walk. I will try to keep it interesting for New Yorkers and non-New Yorkers alike. Here are some things to consider before we begin:

I transferred from the L at 14th, like always. The trains were not as busy as they usually are, but there were still quite a few people out and about (and the same goes for most of my journey). Lots of people had suitcases, and many more had multiple bags full of gifts. I mostly saw couples and single people on the train.

Inwood-207 is the last stop on the A train, now the furthest uptown I’ve taken it. I committed around the Upper West Side to go all the way. Some of the stops near the end look like some of the grander uptown 1/2/3 stations. The only people left on the train when I left were single people. A few stayed on to sleep.

The only other time I’ve been to Inwood was my other big walk. When the gentrifiers find it, it’s done for. It’s a great area. Easy to walk around and has some calm to it. Dyckman Street has this line of restaurants that had tons of people outside this summer. There was a band playing then where a whole Santa statue and Christmas tree setup is now.

I wanted to start my Top to Bottom walk with a bite from Inwood Bagels, which apparently slaps and is a frequent first stop for Top to Bottom walkers. Apple Maps said it was open today, but — what a surprise — I was led astray.

It’s nippy out. Do people outside of Pittsburgh use the word nippy? Oh well, let’s see how far I go. I was unsure if I would just go a few blocks or take the entire length of Broadway. I wanted to be flexible and forgiving of myself. I started my journey somewhere in the 1 o’clock hour.

Is this even a neighborhood? Apple Maps says so. I never saw any signs with Fort George on it, but I did see plenty mentioning Inwood or Washington Heights.

When I was here this summer, I mentally paired Fort George with the sprawling, magnificent Fort Tryon Park because they both have Fort in the name. I traversed the park as the sun set, climbing up and down endless stairs. The Met Cloisters is here, and I will keep telling myself I should go.

Broadway snakes around the park. No incline right now. I see families and dog walkers pop in and out.

I am going full speed ahead as if propelled by a motor. This neighborhood is longer than I thought. There certainly is some height to it, but I felt more downhill than uphill. Non-New Yorkers may know of this neighborhood from the Lin Manuel-Miranda musical and movie In the Heights about the fictional lives of Dominican and Puerto Rican immigrants and first-gen Americans living there. Lo and behold, there was a massive billboard advertising the movie on the side of a Staples parking garage. I am obsessed with this ad. It is in great condition but says the movie comes out on June 11, which was actually in 2021. How long will it stay up?

Every salon, barber shop, nail joint, and eyebrow threader teemed with customers getting a last-minute refresh. There are tons of people milling about, especially in the shopping area around the GW Bridge. Lots of businesses are open. Look to the left or right of you at each block and you may see the other side of the street far above or below where you are. The blocks closer to the Hudson are more residential. Broadway is the perfect street to walk down because something is always happening.

I walked past a green van decked out with Christmas decorations, and then saw the exact same one a block later with the same decorations. I would have seen it come this way. Was there a glitch in the matrix, or am I stupid? I soon passed a pastry shop that I walked in and immediately walked out of because I realized I should eat something substantial first.

I’m going down a part of Broadway I’ve never been to before, and there are quite a few beautiful buildings. Chiefly, the United Palace takes up a whole city block and looks to be a grand theater. It says Home of Spiritual Artistry so I assumed there was a religious component, but I think I’m wrong. There’s also a Hispanic Museum that looks gorgeous. Why didn’t I know this before?

I’ve done a bit more than 50 blocks at this point, and I feel like I’m just getting started (which I am). The music and bustle around me pushes me further. There are fewer signs in Spanish now. I have no idea what neighborhood boundaries are over here. Why is Harlem so big? Are all of these neighborhoods just part of Harlem?

I was most recently over here for a dinner party that I wrote about last issue. I had a pretty view for a block of the City College facade above me, and I remembered hitting this block when it was way hotter during one of my brother’s Super Smash Bros. Melee tournaments. It’s so funny that I’m doing this walk in the cold when the sky is cloudy and the only leaves I see are from Christmas tree salesmen.

Speaking of, I pass Christmas tree salesmen bundling up unsold trees, failed by the wintertime tree adoption system in which most Americans partake. I noticed lots of people walking and sitting around with Domino’s pizza boxes. Transplant spotting is so easy around here because I can’t see any (I think).

I have never heard of this neighborhood outside of seeing it on Apple Maps. In a break from my norm, I am going to call this area Manhattanville because it provides such a stark transition. I feel like I can divide my walk as before and after I traverse Manhattanville.

What is Manhattanville, you might ask? I consider it the area where the 1 train goes above ground and splits through Broadway. You walk down this steep incline and go all the way back up in what I think was the toughest of the walk. To be fair, none of these hills were very hard, but this was probably the hardest.

Before Manhattanville, all of the neighborhoods had similar vibes. Elevation changes, Spanish rap blasting from cars, people running into each other and saying hi, lots of joy…community! This is the New York people think they’re going to and that is gone from most neighborhoods. These are also areas that out-of-towners or the ignorant find undesirable and wrongly deem unsafe.

I’m starting to lose steam once I hit the onset of this neighborhood. As I watch the 1 train sink back underground, I feel a massive sense of gratitude. Even though I’m about to walk through so much of the city, there are still so many parts of Manhattan — and four other boroughs — left to explore. You can walk across the city all day and still not see nearly enough. I am so lucky to see as much of it as I want.

As I take in the joy, I look to see the valley and incline ahead. The crowds disappear as I begin my descent. Construction sites and empty buildings abound. At the bottom of the hill, there’s a modern, formidable building with trendy coffee shops and a climbing gym (Vital, duh).

It’s bleak down here. I’m missing the warmth of the heights. Where did all of the people go? I trek up the hill and remember that it is Christmas Eve. What if everyone is inside with their families? Will this activity meant to combat loneliness actually amplify it?

I’ve made it up the hill. My legs are starting to ache. I still haven’t eaten any food today (do NOT be like me) because I am searching for the perfect bagel on my route. I find a spot in the Upper West Side as a goal. It’s already prettier here than the other neighborhoods. These old, grand buildings have been kept up and loved for decades. The medians now have manicured greenery.

I stare at some beautiful, barren campuses, both Union Theological Seminary, which proves how heavenly this city can be, and Horace Mann, a bonkers exclusive private school I only heard about through literature and film. I then hit the most beautiful and barren campuses of all atop the hill: Barnard and Columbia. Columbia was the first college I toured (read: walked around campus aimlessly with my parents in 9th grade), and I could see a glimpse of its central square.

I am suddenly 14 years old again, setting the highest of goals and, above all, excited to accomplish them. I miss that hunger I had for learning. I’m only telling you this because I trust you — I considered grad school for five minutes. My friends who have heard my countless rants on how useless grad school is for at least 50% of students are probably shocked to read this. I imagined walking through the same hallowed halls as many of our nation’s great minds. I think about Meadow Soprano and other insufferable girls like myself winning our professors over in small group discussions after floundering in them for weeks. The illusion breaks when I remember that I don’t like anything enough to pay thousands of dollars to learn more about it.

120th Street was the only time the whole walk I turned to look behind me. This was to see the hill from the other side. I would have turned more if I sensed my enemies approaching me.

Okay, we’re more than 100 blocks walked and are back to familiarity. Here on down are places where friends and activities I find myself enjoying happen to be. I passed by Tom’s Diner from Seinfeld. There are now people again, and I think they’re my people, the Jewish people. Every time I walk through this neighborhood I want to be 70 years old and surrounded by other kvetching Jews. I’m really slowing down here and relating to the olds.

Around 3:30, I reach the highly regarded Absolute Bagels, thankful I had cash on me for the first time ever at a cash-only spot. It’s a no-frills joint that I think is run by someone Thai, considering you can get a Thai iced tea with your bagel. I got a BEC on an everything bagel.

I went outside and sat on a bench in one of many New York “parks” that’s just a median beyond intersecting diagonal roads. I’m near a friend’s apartment and remember seeing this cross street for the first time in awe of its grandeur. The bench’s plaque says something about mishpocha, which is Hebrew for family. I put my hair in a ponytail and scarf down my bagel. I felt something that only comes in glimmers: I am a New Yorker. I feel this title bestowed upon me in this moment of simultaneous joy and suffering. My version of being a New Yorker might just be being Buddhist.

Part of why I waited so long to eat was because I knew that stopping would inform me of how tired I was. My charge towards the magnet of Battery Park would neutralize, and progress would slow. You would think my bagel would refuel me, but my procrastination was correct. Once I resumed, I felt myself going slower and having a tougher time. My observations simplified, and I wondered if my end was nearer than the geographic one.

The frustration had the ill-fitting backdrop of one of my favorite neighborhoods. Countless cafes and boutiques I usually peer into, creating a thousand stories, I pushed past in favor of a lower block number. Not even a refurbished school bus with letters etched out to read Soul Bus or an inflatable nut mascot next to a nut store was enough to bring a smile to my face. I noticed plenty of young adults in crewnecks of faraway liberal arts schools, donned by those home for the holidays. I wonder what someone with as bustling of a home as the Upper West Side thinks of Oberlin, Ohio.

The Upper West Side starts losing some of its charm once I reach the 70s. The corporate high rises and big chains harken to Columbus Circle up ahead. I realize here that Chipotle is probably one of the most prolific restaurants on Broadway along with McDonald’s.

I stare at a Mormon church I’ve never seen until turning slightly to the right and realizing I’m smack dab at Lincoln Center. It’s starting to get dark, and the lights on the steps glow against the families arranging themselves for pictures.

Broadway has been crossing diagonally over avenues all over the west side for a while now, crescendoing towards Times Square. I find this one the hardest to cross because of the amount of intersections the circle creates. The holidays are not deterring people from walking around and enjoying the Christmas market at the corner of Central Park.

The sun rapidly sets, and I soak in the pretty pinks waving at me from above, reminding me I haven’t looked up very much from what’s right in front of me. There are very few times I just look at what’s in front of me, and that’s such a luxury of this walk to take in the present moment.

This is the only time I veer off of Broadway and instead walk an extra block along the park and hitting Seventh Avenue. I wanted to avoid this chunk of Broadway chaos before enduring the most overwhelming bit. I marvel at the breathtaking buildings like Carnegie Hall and Alwyn Court, luxury park real estate giving in to the area that takes up the most air in the city.

53rd Street — that’s when the crowd truly formed. Times Square pedestrians are one mass, a singular organism with people blurring together like imagery from the first line of Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive.” Or something as inspiring as the American melting pot. Or something as grotesque as the human centipede.

The glow ahead intensifies. The beast grows, more families and couples and children anticipating the corner everything changes. I take note of the structures around me, like the towering BNP Paribas building, an empty lobby aside from a skyscraper of a Christmas tree. This is one of many similar lobbies, a hollow reminder of how the holiday’s capitalist version can yield loneliness.

Times Square is the most polarizing place in New York. Visitors love it; residents loathe it. At least it’s a pen to put all of the newbies in. As much as I dislike the heightened awareness I have of my belongings, questionable stenches wafting around, and the sheer fecundity of advertisers on displaying itself, I cannot hate it completely. This assertion counteracts my earlier feeling of being such a New Yorker.

I do not remember much from my first visit to Times Square aside from it happening upon my first trip to New York. It was the summer after ninth grade, and our hotel was nearby. I didn’t particularly like or dislike the area; I just remember it being a lot, both in good and bad ways.

The next year, I stayed there for a school choir trip. Every time I walk through Times Square at night, I fondly reminisce on a time my friend Gabby and I ran through all alone holding our shoes from a choir performance, wearing black choral dresses. Laughing and screaming, we bumped into teachers we knew that would probably punish us if we were anyone else. I think they were happy to see us little dorks letting loose. This is a good metaphor for how Gabby and I, now living a short walk from each other, tackle our lives.

Nowadays, I try to avoid this area. I’m usually here around nighttime to see a musical. I do remember walking here in the warm daylight a few months ago with Meera on the way to lunch in Hell’s Kitchen and both of us feeling overcome with joy. There’s something about now being able to effectively squirm through the square that feels like a small win, doing something so many people are unable to do (except, that is, for the many other people who happen to live here).

I slowly saunter with the crowd, taking this time as some form of rest without a complete pause. Overflowing with consumerism, fostering intense memories, involving millions of people from around the world…is it too much of a stretch to say Times Square is a lot like Christmas?

The crowd thins — we’ve escaped the timeless area named Times, and it’s Christmas Eve again. It’s nighttime, and few people roam the sidewalks aside from a massive line at a new tea shop, the first U.S. installment of a popular Asian chain.

There’s a sadness about this point of my day. I pass by a plethora of engaging storefront windows with no one inside, save maybe for an unlucky employee or two cleaning up. With swanky restaurants and chic furniture stores, NoMad feels like a modern adaptation on the media-ideal version of 1920s New York. It has an emptiness without any of its shoppers that pushes me away from a neighborhood I usually am not attracted to anyway.

So many people have no choice but to spend the holidays alone. I pass by a few homeless people sleeping under makeshift coverings. What privilege I have to just walk away from the holiday…which I was literally doing this day. I remember a few Christmas Eves ago when my grandpa was having a rough time, only to be soon diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and die within weeks. To lose out on any time with loved ones is a selfish choice, even if my traditions are in flux.

It doesn’t help that my phone and body batteries are dying. I am on airplane mode, both on my phone and in my mind, pressing forward past the Flatiron building. One of the offices I crook my head at houses Okta, the authentication software I use to get into some systems at my job. We use their app as a second part of logging into some sites. I ponder if they get into the office by using their own app.

I weave through another busy Christmas market and am fading fast. Do I eat something? I do not want to take another break, fearing complete stoppage. I have made it so far, and this is the perfect place to take the train back home. I bask in the green glow of the Whole Foods sign and am up the grocery store’s escalator before I know it.

Christmas music screeches through the store with neither cheery patrons nor gloomy workers listening along. I walk towards a fridge with my elixir of choice, mint Yerba Mate, and put it down shortly after picking it up so I can take a bathroom detour. I have not thought about using the toilet once this day, which is peculiar. I was really on a mission.

Finding a public restroom is hard in this city, and I join a long line. I watch a worker zone out in despair while sitting at a stand that sells…nothing. I listen to the conversations around me and find myself staring too much at a twink with perfect, non-veneer teeth. The men’s restroom line moves much faster. I hear heightened male arguing once I make it into stall land. I watch a man in a wheelchair clunkily wheeled by another man into their bathroom before I enter the most recently vacant women’s stall: the handicapped one.

It felt nice to sit on a warmer surface than the winter wind. I worried that I did not take enough time to sit, considering the last time I did the sun was still up and the block numbers were three digits long. Alas, the Yerba Mate calls.

I love energy drinks so much. I move through some boring blocks while sipping my mint potion and feel each gulp strengthen me. How crazy is it that you get energy by consuming things, especially when those things have caffeine! I feel my power surge back, and it is at 10th Street that I realize I will succeed in my Top to Bottom goal. The rest of the walk is a breeze.

There are fewer people here than in busy Union Square, and I think all of them are tourists. It’s mostly families walking around and commenting on the stores next to them. A guy accidentally bumped into me and apologized. That’s not someone who lives here, not even a New Yorker overcome with Christmas spirit.

I am not paying attention to much of the area because I am too excited to claim victory. I stare out at a building many blocks away I cannot identify and know I will reach. In this moment nearing triumph, I think of the millions of Jews who have journeyed before me. Noah in the ark for 40 days and 40 nights (okay, he’s not Jewish but did listen to God), Jews wandering through the desert for 40 years after escaping Egypt, the millions of diaspora Jews fleeing centuries of persecution to foreign lands — I am the product of all of them. I am lucky enough to use that odyssey ability for leisure.

I cross Houston Street, signaling the end of the numbered streets. I’ve walked 207 blocks plus a few other named streets stuffed between certain numbers. Now onto Prince Street, Spring Street…how come I didn’t know there’s a Great Jones Street? What even makes a Jones Great? Are those the kinds of Joneses people can’t keep up with?

Despite its allure, SoHo makes me uncomfortable. It just feels so out of reach in my life. Expensive shopping for the richest tourists. They have things like a store just for Aritzia Super Puff jackets or a dispensary with signs that say stuff like A multi-sensory journey into cannabis culture. In this walk, I am a spectator of so many lives, so it’s funny to zip through a neighborhood I already feel like a spectator in. Urban Outfitters is still open and has some customers. A donut shop nearby has a few customers inside, and they’re all cops! I laugh out loud.

I catch a glimpse of Chinatown, but most of the business signs where I am walking are in English. I remember a camp counselor of mine becoming a realtor in New York and constantly posting about properties in TriBeCa on Facebook. I hated that she spelled the neighborhood this way. I recently read a New York Times article about a dream apartment, and it turns out she was the buyer’s realtor.

This may be the most empty neighborhood of my journey. I walk by yet another fast-casual restaurant that looks like a chain based on its sterility but I assume doesn’t exist outside of the city (and I’m correct about the place I had in mind: Sophie’s Cuban). I hit Duane Street, which feels like the FiDi border based on its sudden architectural change. Turns out the next street is Reade Street, which teaches me the origin of the famous drug store.

Of course, the neighborhood New Yorkers use for work and work only is not as full as the workday provides, but I eventually see more people and brighter lights from taller buildings. I reach what I think is the building I have been staring at since I hit NoHo,  the Woolworth Building.

When I first moved to New York, my mom moved me in with the help of two other moms I love deeply. One of their sons is my friend Max whom you may remember from my Christmas party entry from two weeks ago. Our crew spent my first weekend living in New York together, and he helped me adjust to a city he was more accustomed to than I.

While we ogled at skyscrapers, Max said, Whenever people ask me the name of a building we walk by, I always say it’s the Woolworth Building. This became an inside joke of the weekend, referring to everything as the Woolworth Building. A month later, the final interview for a job I ended up turning down happened to be there. It really is a breathtaking structure. You come up the subway stairs and the top of the tower feels lifetimes away. The lobby is ornate, and security guards stand near a sign reading No pictures. I loved that this distant goal in my walk was just a different perspective of the Woolworth Building, in which I finally saw its top.

I near Fulton Street where the streetlights change into long cylinders perched upon posts, creating a promenade effect for the rest of Broadway. This is my finish line. I cannot believe I am about to complete a goal that 1. I’ve had for a long time 2. I decided to tackle on a whim 3. I assumed I would not do alone.

The aloneness of this journey and these few days in New York have reminded me of the joys and sorrows of solitude. I like to think I am still tethered to the realities of youth despite being in a serious enough relationship to live with my partner. This weekend reminded me that my tether is closer to the strength of a tetherball than a bridge beam. If this is how turbulent I feel after just a few days without my partner, family, and friends (and not even all of them!), I am not as independent as I think I am.

But I always feel that being alone is the easiest way I gain confidence. The Sydney in February that was sore every day for a month while getting used to walking everywhere would be proud. I near the end of Broadway and pass more Sydneys, just like I have been doing for this whole walk. I reach a set of trees with lights wrapped around all of the branches and remember the Sydney in New Hampshire, whose apartment stood on a street lined with lit trees in the winter. I pass a young family taking pictures near a train station and am reminded of the little Sydney smiling for pictures at every vacation. I looked up at a church that reminded me of Boston a bit (Trinity Church), which made me tear up. Fitting for Christmas Eve, I guess?

I notice the Oculus to the right of me and then the World Trade Center, a beacon I saw glimmers of while way further uptown. I reach the Bull, tchotchke vendors packing their wares away while I pass my final crowd of the walk take pictures at the Bull.

I cross State Street. I made it. Battery Park. There it is. I remember reaching it during my shorter version of this walk earlier in the year, lying on a bench in the sun like a lizard. Tonight, it’s much colder than that lizard day. Parts of the park are blocked off for some sort of maintenance. It is extremely quiet. I only see one person, and, hilariously enough, he’s a Hasidic Jew. What’s he doing down here?

I feel a bit uneasy walking through this park so late (well, it’s almost 7 p.m. but dark enough to be later). I go as far as I can, but the final walk along the water is blocked off for construction. I stare out at the expanse with the Statue of Liberty beaming far ahead. I take a few pictures, stare for a moment, and leave.

Walking to the train station, I am laughing. How underwhelming this feels! Did I expect confetti? All of my friends to emerge from the water congratulating me? Should we invite Bella Hadid? What did I expect at the end? A journey alone will end alone. I have to be satisfied because I said so. I run up the steps to just barely make the train. I can’t believe I can run after all of that walking, which ended up being over 27,000 steps, 11.7 miles, and a little over 5 hours.

Once I get home, I start writing this entry. I am almost more proud that I took copious notes of the Top to Bottom Walk than actually completing it. Tiny notes, but visual enough that I know exactly what to write about. Days later while completing this behemoth of a tale that may have taken me longer to write about than to complete, I feel much more accomplished. It also gave me the space to have extra fun with my mom once she visited. This walk somehow simultaneously humbled me and boosted my ego.

I’ll hopefully give this walk another go with company once it’s warmer. But it won’t be like seeing what a sleepy day looks like for a city that, even on Christmas Eve, never sleeps.