“I never thought it was such a bad little tree.”

It’s here. I think I was shell-shocked after Thanksgiving, still in denial (perhaps it was all the wine), that the holidays were much further away than they appeared. But Wednesday morning I realized, as it literally hit me on my walk to the office. Just as I reached Fifth Avenue at 52^ndstreet  - bam! - a guy bumped into me like he didn’t see me at all. My shoulder was thrown back and I turned around ready to yell. Upon further examination I figured he probably actually hadn’t seen me because he was a tourist (made obvious by a lot of things including but not limited to the jeans, sneakers and baseball cap in Midtown on a weekday), and tourists don’t see anything because they walk with their necks craned as though they’ve never seen tall buildings before.

And maybe they haven’t.

“Unbelievable,” I said, my go-to response for all types of frustrating encounters with people in and around this city (sometimes when it’s really egregious there’s a certain bleeping expletive placed before it). “Watch where you’re going, dude.” I opted for “dude” in an attempt to take a bit of the sting out of it instead of, say, “moron” or “blind idiot.”

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry, ma’am!” he said. I turned around and he had his hands out in front of him as though he were bracing himself for me to throw a punch. I’m not sure what I was more taken aback by, how apologetic he was or that I’m now, apparently, old enough to be referred to as ma’am. I relented taking pity, and simply shook my head at him. It was a chastising but accepting gesture of his apology, and I proceeded to stand on the corner to wait for the light to change.

“I really am sorry,” he continued. “I’ve never been to New York before, and we’re in town for the tree lighting tonight and I’m trying to find where to go…”

My heart seized. The bleeping unbelievable Rockefeller tree lighting is TONIGHT? In all my denial about the holiday season I’d forgotten this annual tourist trap was upon us. Now all I could think about was how from tomorrow until the end of the month I’m going to have to push back against a torrent of tourists all gawking at store windows and blocking the sidewalks with their enormous shopping bags every time I enter or leave work.

“It’s three blocks that way,” I said not turning around, extending my right arm and index finger southwards down Fifth the way the Ghost of Christmas Future points to Ebenezer Scrooge’s grave.

I think he said thank you but I didn’t hear it, I was already crossing the street, leaving him stranded looking for where to go for what was sure to be one of the most irritating nights of his life. What is it about being wedged in with hundreds of people for hours waiting for Justin Bieber to sing a bad rendition of “Frosty the Snowman” that makes people feel like that’s what the holiday season is all about? I guess it’s the same people who eat their Thanksgiving dinners in tents outside Best Buy.

I wonder where they get it, the propensity not to feel depressed and annoyed at this season of emotional and materialistic stresses. Doesn’t it get to them, all the expectation and pressure, how we have no choice but to remember the way things used to be, that time when life was a lot less complicated? I’ll admit that for the rest of the year I’m a lot better at pushing the past and everything else back, keeping it at bay. But for some reason this season goes down like a glass of eggnog laced with melancholy, and I tend to go through December with my head down holding my breath until it’s over. 

Later that night while I was still at the office, I found myself remembering two years ago being at dinner with my friend Matt downtown the night before we were both meant to leave the city for Christmas. It was the last chance we were going to have to go skating at Wollman Rink in Central Park, and we decided as we paid the check that we should go. We hopped in a cab and sped uptown, shoving extra cash at the driver to get us there in time. He dropped us at Central Park South, and we ran through the darkened snow covered lanes of the park until we saw it, the bright icy circle floating in the distance, holiday music booming from surrounding speakers. 

We sprinted to the ticket window, and when we arrived, panting and out of breath, the woman told us the rink was closing in ten minutes, and they weren’t letting anyone else in. Matt and I, still both determined to enjoy this last bit of childhood holiday nostalgia, pleaded with her, reminded her of the spirit of the season. Soon she smiled and gave in, and shook her head at us as she waved us through. It was a Christmas miracle. We had enough time to make about five laps around before they started to turn off the lights. I remember how happy we were to have even that brief time on the ice, how the woman behind the ticket window told us to have a Merry Christmas as we left, and how we reminisced about some of the happier Christmases of our pasts as we walked through the abandoned red and white holiday tents in Columbus Circle on our way home.

Thinking back on that night I realized that's what they're trying to do, those crazy people waiting out in the cold to see the first initial lighting of the tree. They all want to feel something, they want back, even for a moment, the lightness and happiness of youth that Matt and I tried so hard to reclaim that night at the rink. Yes life is difficult and we can't get back the past, but it's important not to give up and lose sight of the good things right here in the present. 

That's why I decided to wait. I waited until Mariah Carey and tourists were all gone, and took a detour to the subway home. It was late and the sidewalks were already emptying as I walked down along Fifth Avenue - 50^th, 49^th, 48^th - and then suddenly there it was. It stood tall and proud, an 80-foot Norway Spruce from Mt. Olive, New Jersey that had been growing in the backyard of one Joe Balku since he bought his home in 1973. It had made it through Superstorm Sandy even as the surrounding trees in Balku’s backyard all were downed. Yet this tree remained. It battled the rain and the high winds only to find itself here, pulled from its roots and adorned with 30,000 lights and topped with a Swarovski crystal star.

Some people were still lingering, all posing for pictures, big smiles on their faces with the giant green tree alight behind them. That’s when I felt it - this tree is a survivor. It gave its life to bring all of these people together, and it will stand here as a beacon of hope for forty days, and after its stint in the spotlight it will become lumber for Habitat for Humanity in order to change the lives of others yet again. It will carry on. Because that’s what we do, in spite of or maybe because of the hardships in our lives we carry on, we survive. We may not know what our destinies hold but we adapt, we strive to find purpose and meaning, we aspire to effect change and to spark love in what little time we have to be alive.

We are all undiscovered trees in distant backyards waiting to find our place in the world, and we do what we can to get by. Maybe that’s the true meaning of the season, to find something that brings us together and reminds us we’re not alone.

A young couple both in puffy jackets and knit hats asked me if I’d take their picture. It took a few tries (I’m not handy with iPhones), but I think we finally got one with real greeting card potential. As I handed the phone back to them they thanked me, and I asked where they were from.

The girl looked at me strangely, cocked her head to the side and said, “Queens.”

Such a thing for two New Yorkers to find themselves together here in front of this tree. 

Further proof I suppose, that the brave New Jersey Norway’s lights shine for all who need it, no matter where they happen to call home.