Ah, New York City. I am home, and have checked off one of the 100 things on my to do before age 50 list: Christmas shopping in New York. Fiance and I had planned for weeks. We had saved a little bit of money for months. We left the Madison Square Gardens train station into Times Square with full pockets and silly grins at the big bright lights in the total "we're not in Kansas anymore" moment.

My grandfather told me over the phone on the car ride back that New York was a town where no matter how poor you are, there is someone with less money, and no matter how rich, there is always someone with more. It made so much sense to hear on the return leg of the trip. I felt like we had gone to the city with wide open credit cards and American currency to unleash in a mad shopping frenzy. I thought we'd have so many bags weighing us down being tossed in the large weekend-before-Christmas crowds. Turns out our backpacks were pretty much big enough to haul our loot, and our credit card limits were closer to us than originally thought. It's true: in New York someone always has more than you. This is an easy enough equation to figure out walking down fifth avenue. We did get great gifts for people at home, but I couldn't help realizing what I didn't have. Its a mentality I guess.

We also saw angry people, stressed people, people who's only source of joy was Tiffany's jewelry. That would make me smile too, but then again, so does a good street hot dog. There was a new breed of homeless...people with crazy signs and stunts, I guess to win our pocket change over the slew of other homeless people competing for it. I saw sad people, people who looked miserable to be serving me and the bajillion other people to pass through the Times Square McDonald's. There are definitely people in New York with less than me.

I came home striking a balance. While my MasterCard is full, and my bank account empty, I had a wonderful time walking the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn with my baby. I loved seeing the beauty of Rodin sculptures in the Met, the architectural ingenuity of the flatiron building, the serene cityscape from the Statten Island ferry and the organized chaos of the million flashing bulbs and screens of Times Square. I came home happy and lucky to have had the chance, and to have taken it. I also liked snuggling into my own bed, looking at my own ceiling and listening to my own familiar nighttime sounds outside my window.