A Ride on the Holiday Nostalgia Train

Come Christmastime, I become absolutely ferrel with desire to see and do all of the cute festivities this city has to offer. I live in New York, the city that billions of people flock to every year for a taste of Christmas magic. But the holidays crept up unusually quick this year, and I did not come quite as prepared as I usually do.

Last year, I managed to see the Vienna Boys Choir, Brett Eldridge’s Christmas Special, and the Rockettes. This year, I’ve done absolutely nothing to that caliber. What I’ve done instead is a take a cozier, more refined approach to Christmas in New York. Which is just as special! I hosted a holiday party at home, I saw the Rockefeller Tree, I went upstate and played in the snow. But for some reason, I always put this immense pressure on myself to do the most. To seize the day and embrace of the season at full force. But if you’re always seizing the day, don’t they sort of start to run together? If every day is special, then no days are special.

Despite the lack of Viennese boys singing or Rockettes kicking, in the end, I think this holiday season will be the one that I’ll reminisce on most when I am old and gray. All because of serendipity, a word I learned in my early 20s and latched onto because of the magic it holds. By definition, serendipity a fortunate accident. Something you did not expect, but is a pure delight. I credit a lot of life’s most special moments to serendipity. I met my best friend, Shea, thanks to a serendipitous occurrence underneath a Christmas tree in 2021. And I think what makes these moments truly serendipitous is the fact that sometimes, they shouldn’t have happened. But they did. And it was all thanks to a series of choices that almost didn’t line up. But they did.

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of experiencing what might’ve been the most serendipitous occurrence in my little lifetime. Next to meeting Shea, of course. Sunday was my annual stroll-around-lower-manhattan-popping-into-cute-shops-for-christmas-presents-and-take-myself-out-to-lunch day. This year, I started in the West Village, ducking into CO Bigelow for hand cream, Three Lives and Co for a new book, Lil Sweet Treat for Swedish candy, Sogno Toscano for the Christmas morning panettone. My feet hurting, my arms weighted down with bags, I strolled into Via Carota and was sat promptly at the bar, where I proceeded to slurp down a $27 bowl of my favorite pasta.

I wandered down Perry Street then Bleecker, and eventually found myself at the West 4th Street subway station, where I absent-mindedly walked to the C train platform to head home. But then I remembered - I wanted to hit a few shops in NoHo. Feet hurting and hands full, I told myself to buck up and toughen it out. I needed a few more stocking stuffers, and I wouldn’t have time to come back before my flight home on Thursday. So, I scurried down the stairs and waited patiently for the F train to take me to 2nd avenue. And that is when serendipity struck me.

As I stood on the platform, face down in my book, I heard a horn. But not your usual aggressive subway horn. It was an older horn that sounded like something out of an old black and white movie. I looked up from my book, and much to my amusement, a New York City subway from the 1930s was pulling up to the station. That’s when I realized — it was the holiday nostalgia train. I’d heard about it and seen it in videos, and always thought that would be so special to ride. But the timing of it all, the tourists and the crowds, turned me off. So I never looked into it much.

Now, here it was, serendipitously pulling up right in front of me. The doors opened, the conductor saying all aboard. I hopped on, as if it was normal, and rode the train the two stops I needed to get me to my destination. Inside, everyone was smiling in pure awe, transfixed by the original ads, frozen in time from the day the MTA took the train out of commission. Women in fur coats were sitting on the original upholstered benches, dressed for the occasion. My eyes welling with tears, I hopped off at 2nd avenue and stood on the platform, feeling almost as if I’d time traveled. I felt like I’d imagined it.

As someone who rejects modern technology and amenities whenever possible. Who listens to classical music and watches history documentaries. Who still writes letters and reads books. Who spends her weekends going on historic home tours and knitting bonnets. These 5 minutes on a 100-year-old moving train were enchanting. I cannot express it. I wish I could relive it over and over. This fortunate accident was just the magic I needed this season. And nothing will ever really compare.

Here’s hoping everyone experiences their own little dose of serendipity this season. There’s nothing quite like it.