Cinematic Rainy Day at the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade in NYC
The Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade wasn’t on my radar—just one of those New York traditions that feels far away when you’re living your everyday life. But this year, everything changed. Friends invited us to their office to watch it from above, and we said yes.
The timing was serendipitous: my daughter Petra’s birthday had been the day before. Waking up at 5 a.m., taking the subway through the rain-drenched streets, felt more like an adventure than a chore. For the kids, it was pure magic: the early start, the misty city, the novelty of it all.
Inside the office, warm and dry, we watched as the parade unfolded. The rain fell endlessly, casting a Gotham-like spell over the city. Through the windows, the brightly colored balloons floated by, surreal and mesmerizing. Each one drew gasps—not just from the kids, but from us adults, who suddenly felt the wonder of being children again.
Our friend Nastya brought Olivier salad, a taste of our New Year’s tradition. It felt grounding, this little slice of home, amidst the spectacle of marching bands and towering balloons. And then there was the crowd below, enduring the rain for this moment of collective joy.
But as I watched from the comfort of that office, I couldn’t stop thinking about the people standing outside in the downpour—not just parade-goers, but others. Those without homes, without shelter. Those without food or warmth, who would give anything for a space like this to escape the rain. And beyond this city, across the world, so many face impossible struggles every day. The privilege of standing dry and warm never felt so profound or so fragile.
We ended the day with cake for Petra. As she made her wish, gazing out at the city from above, I felt the weight of gratitude—gratitude for these moments, for the people who share them with us, for the beauty that somehow persists even on the rainiest of days.
But the moment that stayed with me wasn’t the balloons or the cake—it was Petra, lying in a puddle on our way home, crying from sheer overwhelm. Her long purple skirt spread out like a blooming flower, her pink jacket vivid against the gray street. Her emotions mirrored the day: joy, exhaustion, wonder. I wished I’d grabbed my camera to freeze the beauty of that moment—this happy, rain-soaked child lying in her own world of feelings. Some images live only in memory, but perhaps that’s where they shine the brightest.
