It's 11:30pm on New Year's Eve, and I am eavesdropping on the city. On my new block, more precisely.
While my little family is asleep (having a baby makes for early bedtimes for everyone), I've woken up to feed the baby. As I sit in the darkened living room, sneaking looks out of our giant windows, I am secretly glad that Blinds.com is taking so long to complete our order, for it means I can stealthily enjoy watching a sampling of New Yorkers on Their Most Famous Night, parading by our new apartment.
Lots of revelers, children and grandparents included, are making their way to Central Park for fireworks. Some stronger souls are geared up in running clothes, lights on their wacky hats flashing, ready for the annual midnight run in the park.
I've seen dashing older couples in opera finery, twenty-somethings with noisemakers and uncomfortably high shoes, tourists using smartphones to find their way to the fun. I'm hearing helicopters and sirens, car horns honking, and tipsy party-goers slurring premature "Happy New Years" to any of us within earshot.
I've heard one spat ("How dare you. How DARE YOU!), but lots of laughing. I've seen a little bit of sloppy walking, but no outright stumbling. I've noticed people's paces pick up as we inch towards midnight.
And as I sit here in the dark, watching them all, I am happy for them. Happy they are making memories. Happy they are having fun.
But mostly, I'm happy for me. Happy to be here in the Greatest City on Earth. Happy that my little family is sleeping soundly. Happy for the year to come.
And a little happy that no one can see what I'm wearing right now.
Happy New Year.
