Here We Go

Standing at the base of Central Park’s Cat Hill just moments into the New Year, as a brilliant gold firework exploded, cascaded and faded in front of the sliver moon and jagged city skyline, I had to believe: this will be my year.

Correction: this will be our year.

The Holidays were nothing short of miraculous. With the notable exception of aforementioned fireworks, they weren’t miraculous in dramatic, explosive, or heroic ways. Instead, the last few weeks have been a collection of tiny moments that add up to something greater.

Christmas dinner at the Essex House with my entire family — mom, dad, dad’s wife, my brother, sister-in-law and nephew — for the first time in 23 years.

Crocodile tears peeling down my brother’s face as I played guitar for Ethan.

Running Valley Forge Park’s Mount Joy in the early morning hours of the waning year.

Wandering the West Village at dawn.

Staying up through the small hours with old friends, laughing ’til my side hurt.

Martinis at Jefferson. Coffee at Jack’s. Stella at Schiller’s. Saporo at 95 Christopher. Most importantly: the company I kept.

Sleeping late, and dreaming long.

To make matters greater still, the last few weeks have witnessed a bit of a song writing boom. The most recent, written just a few minutes after waking up New Year’s Day, is called ‘The Day Before.’

And she cries twice a day
‘Cuz she thinks that life is beautiful
And so short, so they say
So she pull her new best dress on
And walks out of the door
Steps into something more
Than she knew
The day before

And so, as Emily Watson says to Adam Sandler at the end of Paul Thomas Anderson’s ‘Punch Drunk Love,’ “Here we go.”

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