Silver bells, silver bells, it’s officially Christmas time in the city. The changing of the guard took place when the 34th Street Macy’s Santa (whom I, as a New Jersey child, religiously believed was the only real mall Santa) closed out the Thanksgiving parade. 

The holiday markets are open. The Starbucks Christmas cups are out to play. And if you listen closely, you can almost hear the Home Alone 2 soundtrack in the streets (above the sound of high school choirs caroling and Salvation Army Santas’ boom boxes).

New York at Christmas time is the modern sugar plum dancing in everyone’s heads. People dream of visiting just for a day–of window shopping, of seeing the sights, of getting whimsically lost like Macaulay himself. But if you ask any New Yorker what they’ll be doing for Christmas, their eyes light up as they announce: “I’m going home.”

Unless you’re a member of the rare breed that is the Native New Yorker, you’re probably eager to hop on a flight to your childhood suburb across the country, or worse, the Tri-State Area Holiday Express. (There’s nothing like an NJ Transit or Metro North train on a holiday morning. It’s standing-room-only and a thousand degrees. You’re sardined with hungover frat boys in sunglasses, nervous couples clutching flowers on their way to meet the parents, your acquaintance from high school, and a businessman who’s somehow making a PowerPoint on a laptop at a time like this.)

Of course, it’s both thrilling and crucial to reunite with your family, take a break from the hustle and bustle, and put as many miles as possible between yourself and SantaCon. But let this be your reminder, in these next few weeks before you hop your flight, that New York is your home too. And you deserve a moment to window shop, see the sights, and pretend you’re setting booby traps for Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern.

While you’re listening to your fellow New Yorkers’ annual complaints that this year’s Rockefeller tree is small and scrawny, I invite you to consider that 82 feet is a hair taller than your average short king. While you’re racking your brain for a parkour technique to dodge the crowd watching the 5th Avenue light show, I invite you to consider watching the show yourself. And while you’re shrugging off a chance to see the Rockettes, I invite you to consider that I personally cry every time. I’m serious. I don’t know what it is. They’re just so in sync.

New York at Christmas is chaotic, crowded, and full of people desperately avoiding responsibility during the year’s most pointless three weeks of school and work. But that’s all part of the charm. So grab a hot chocolate sample from your local holiday market, pick up your weird apartment-sized Christmas tree substitute of choice, and take a stroll past the lights on the trees and brownstones. Because when you’re finally walking around your hometown mall, I promise you’ll wish they booked the real Santa.