Two years ago I spent Christmas in Amsterdam with people I know. There was a city of people waiting to be known. Before I left, people kept saying that I would love Amsterdam, so I was determined not to love Amsterdam. What could be so charming about some big European city? I would have jet lag in the winter, and it would be dark and cold and gloomy, and I did not want to go to the red light district.

After a long, tiring, and, yet wonderful flight, in the very early मोर्निंग just before sunrise, before real sunlight, the lavender glow of morning twilight began moving into the sky. I looked down beneath the wing of the plane and saw a million lights glowing in harmonious unity, embedded in the purple luminescence. "It looks like Limoges", I remarked to the man next to me. "More likely Brussels", he said.

I was waved right through customs, but it took a long time to get my baggage and leave the glassed-in greenhouse-like room where we and the carousel of luggage, the newly imported, were enclosed. There were people outside, looking in eagerly. I sensed how primates feel in their habitats, being enjoyed for their amusing antics. They, on the outside, looked happy, like viewing the first shipment of beautiful flowers out of season or rare treats and sweets being unloaded from a caravan. I am possibly overstating the case for our desirability.

Finally, I exited with my luggage and entered Planet Amsterdam. It was morning, dark as evening, but crisp and clear. First and foremost, I wanted to meet my new bed, the very counterpart of my old bed, my nest of dreams-and-snuggle-down. I cared not who may have just vacated it, so travel-weary was I.

Barely had I slept off the worst of the jet lag, before I was coaxed into some type of consciousness, and off we went into the streets to rent videos. It was just like home in a crazy kind of way, since people were speaking an incomprehensible array of languages. We selected a movie and returned to a cozy home and a warm supper. Looking out the windows, I saw people carrying Christmas pies and cakes on bicycles, bags full of unknown and, presumably, scrumptious things.

The next morning there was that filtered sunlight famous in Dutch paintings. I went for my first outing alone. It was like walking in your very own good dream. There was a windmill on my walk. I crossed a little bridge. Water was everywhere, and it was wonderful. I talked to a blond man who kept spilling things from his bicycle pack onto the ground and picking them up again. It was like pantomime.

I was wined and dined and taken to attractions. We sight-saw and rode trains. Language was all around us. We had breakfast in steaming, teaming coffee kitchens. My hosts served me Brussel sprouts with my meal, the best I had ever had. Warm dinners and heartfelt everything were in great supply.

When I returned to the USA, someone asked me how I liked Amsterdam. I told them I didn't like it. I loved it.

And that is what I wish for everyone in My Imaginary Life: Have a Happy and Joyous New Year's Sense of Belonging in the fullest sense of the word and the world and the community.