Hello from the couch at 2am on Christmas Day. My body is wide awake, having just returned from attending midnight mass from St. Francis Xavier Catholic church over here in Park Slope (more on that in a minute), and a quick last call cocktail from one of the few bars open on my way home (the first few attempts were all dismissals of my entry by way of “sorry we’re closed”) - shout out to Barbès for one hell of an Old Fashioned. A piece of decadent chocolate babka was consumed upon my return, and the photographic evidence can be seen on yesterday’s Sunday Roundup.
This is all materialized by light of the Christmas tree, which in no way holds a candle to, well, actually writing by candlelight, but it’s a close second. Paired with this time of the year, the lights offer a bit of a hither reprieve within their bulbs; a beckoning to sit beside them and relax within the early morning and silent night. My time with the lured type of magic they carry is limited, so I’ll soak up the opportunity as much as possible.
I love the holiday season in NYC. The festive lights adorn the brownstones, the holiday music is playing in shops, and well wishes for snow on Christmas are in the air (not happening, this year unfortunately). One would think with the already chaotic mess of the city, the added festive “cheer” would be additive to the utmost extreme. Despite all this, I find myself calmer as the holidays approach, rather than an overwhelming ball of stress.
Of course, there’s the general anxieties gained from the shortening of the dying light of day, the expectations of putting on a festive facade (The Joy Face™), and the over-consumption of food & alcohol. Within myself, this time is a stark reminder of loss over the last couple years; a constant recollection of what was happening in the days leading up to the death of my mother. Where was I on Christmas Eve? What was I thinking? Did I know then what was possibly going to happen? How was she feeling at the time? My memories of the time blur and congeal into a whole ambiguous mess, as so many traumatic events preceded the eventual finale, it’s hard to keep a definitive chronology of the order.
As much as I would have pushed these feelings and memories aside before, this year I’m attempting to let them have some space to breathe; to roam around the grounds of my mind for a little while. They’re knocking at the door, wanting to be let in from the cold for some reason or another. Rather than be combative and telling them to politely “fuck off”, I’m allowing some curiosity by letting them inside.
My favorite part of the holiday season here in NYC isn’t for the reasons mentioned above, but the emptiness of the whole city. Last year, Christmas was spent among the disorder of our place in Park Slope, having moved in a few days before the holiday. Luckily, I had managed to snag a small tree, and some cheap lights & ornaments on sale to maintain some semblance of holiday sanctity within the apartment.
Christmas chaos reigns
Early Christmas morning last year, the furry child and I wandered into Prospect Park, discovering the area completely empty and devoid of life; an eerie feeling contrasted against the normal bustle of cyclists, runners, and dog owners. It should be worth mentioning the weather was low of 15F, with a high of 28F, so this may have kept even the average adventurer inside. The weather didn’t seem to affect the dog, who never has an opinion on the weather outside, as long as she’s outside in the first place. We stumbled upon a couple other weary dog owners along our strides, conversing over the shared topic of our enjoyment of the empty park, the holiday, and the stillness of the city during this time.
Soon our bones began giving up the ghost in our war with the cold, and one of the dog owners and myself made our way towards the entrance of the park. Somehow our discussion turned deeper and introspective - I would like to believe the holiday season, especially with the approaching New Year, casts a spell in this regard.
We both waxed over our current careers. Coincidentally, we were simultaneously experiencing similar existential crises in our careers, and voiced perplexion over what the future held. Mine, having just been let go from the second job I held in NYC since moving here, was in considerable flux, and the holidays perpetuated the feeling.
The funny part was, I found out she was double my age, having made a joke about myself having a career crisis so young. She then opened up into her current situation. She was the owner of an architectural firm, lamenting in finding no joy or passion within her work anymore, and was considering returning to school or just retiring altogether. How at once everything seemed to lose shine and luster after grinding for so many years, and I remarked how brewing had made the same impact on myself. reverie
All we needed from each other as strangers in that moment was not answers, but to air our grievances, and lose ourselves amongst the reverie of life amidst an aberrant empty park.
Comfort was discovered in knowing feeling lost is a universal human experience, at all ages, no matter what your path or career in life. Knowing none of us will ever have it all figured out, no matter what the age, is even more comforting. Our conversation is permanently etched into my cherished core memories, recalling it every so often when doubts bubble up from deep below. Sadly, we haven’t met again since. Who knows, maybe we will today.
The rest of my Christmas day was spent in Manhattan, exploring the Christmas sights of the city, the ones typically packed with tourist crowds prior to holidays. On Christmas day though, these spots are desolate, save the sprinkling of families or loners, such as myself, sharing the same mentality. Quickly, this idea turned into a tradition I wanted to carry into the future.
Bryant Park. Yea, it was cold last Christmas.
Another tradition, more oddball than not, is attending midnight mass at a Catholic church. For those of you who know me well, know I grew up Catholic and attended school until renouncing my (hardly) faith post-8th grade (a long story, but the combination of the internet and researching the shroud of turin really awakened some questions within me). To be honest, skepticism existed the entire time.
The Christmas Eve before the pandemic was the first time stepping into a church for service since my Grandfather passed away in 2009. Having recently moved to Raleigh, NC a few months earlier, no plans were made from traveling for the holiday, thus meant spending Christmas by my lonesome. Attending Christmas eve midnight mass popped into my head seemingly out of the blue. Not in a biblical sense, but the midnight mass felt like a “North Star” during a period where I was fresh to the city, and simultaneous feelings of burnout from brewing were festering. The midnight mass felt like a callback to my youth, when the burden of responsibility and *gestures openly* life was not as heavy as they weigh now.
There’s a sort of comfort, much like the comfort found in a fire, or Christmas lights, that the church holds. It’s a place of community, and honestly, a vacuum of time & space. When you’re existing within its walls, it’s all an air of safety and belonging. Even if thinly veiled to some degree.
Compared to the church in Raleigh, St. Francis Xavier in Park Slope was more my speed. The Raleigh Catholic church had been recently built, and gave off the vibe of a Evangelical Christian megachurch, more so than the dark wooden cabin feel of the church of St. Thomas More in my grade school days.
Ominous, in more ways than one.
The church choir was the focal feature, giving an ethereal feel to the whole experience of occupying such a space in the middle of the night. You’re wondering why you’re awake at this hour, and especially awake inside of a church, standing among all these other folks who have decided to participate in the same experience as you. These were some of the thoughts running through my mind as I was spacing out on whatever teachings the gospel was trying to incept into my head tonight.
Listen to the church choir sing “Hark Now Hear The Angels Sing!” below. Stay til the end, it’s the best part.
Don’t worry, I’m far from ever rejoining the church. Throughout the whole service, my eyebrows are constantly in a raised position and chuckles are emitted under my breath - not to mention my natural tendency to want to clap or say “YEAH!” after the priest finishes a sermon (a symptom of too many concerts).
Standing amongst the ornate mixture of marble and wood architecture, in addition to “ancient traditions”, are a fascinating nostalgic reach back to my past. It’s worth noting, when you’ve created distance from something for such an outstanding amount of time, it’s hard not to return and view whatever it may be in a much different light. In this case, I came to realize how much I could identify the way I was indoctrinated as a youth by observing the mass as a whole. Consistent thoughts of “Oh, so that’s why I feel so guilty all the time”, rang through my head, as the priest asks everyone to think back all the times you may have hurt someone’s feelings.
Will I continue repeating this tradition? Sure, but once a year is enough for me. But damn, did the Catholic go off on their church aesthetics.
Walking home, pre & post cocktail, were the highlights of the night/morning. The air was crisp, the streets silent and empty, and holiday lights illuminated my way home. At one point, I found myself walking down the middle of 7th ave, a semi-major thoroughfare in Park Slope, enveloped in the quiet of the early Christmas morning. The restaurants and shops were trimmed with their holiday decor, and I wondered to myself how many people ever revel the liminal feeling of seeing these shop fronts void of life, as if floating through a dream. Quite some time has passed since I’ve walked in the middle of the street, and it was a treat to do so in a place like NYC. Hopefully it will happen someday soon.
Except for another Christmas-related humor piece coming out later today, I’ll be taking the rest of the week off, including this coming Sunday for the Roundup. There’s quite a few things I’m looking forward to writing about, so expect some fun stuff coming your way in 2024, including a best of 2023 music list!
Thank you all, Happy Holidays, and Merry Christmas,
Cory