The District Never Sleeps

A New Year’s trip to Washington D.C. reminded me to be grateful for the present and excited for the future

Members of the 118th Congress were sworn in early Saturday morning on January 7. After four days of fifteen rounds of voting, protracted party debates, and a spectacle seen around the world, the people’s house began session after midnight. The second hand moves as slowly as the hour hand late at night in the nation’s capital. Most Americans already turned in for bed by the time this historic moment was reached. But the District never sleeps.

One week before the speakership debacle, I found myself lucky enough to take a road trip with good friends to celebrate New Years in Washington D.C. The drive from New York is seemingly simple until you reach New York City traffic. The newly available windfall of infrastructure funds has not yet reached our swollen bridges and crumbling roads. Once in New Jersey the smooth trip down south continued until we reached the Biden Welcome Center in Delaware. One of Delaware’s hidden (only?) notable landmarks comes complete with a Burger King, Panda Express, Christmas decor and classic rest stop bathrooms. It is a must-see if you are in Delaware. Although, if you find yourself in Delaware, I suggest hitting the road as soon as possible.

The lovely Baltimore welcomed us with heavy traffic. Day turned to dusk and red brake lights lit up the dark road. We had enough music and chicken nuggets to keep our spirits high. A few wrong turns later and my party ended up in Arlington, Virginia, which I will controversially call the Cambridge of Washington D.C. All comments are welcomed.

Following our arrival was a reunion with some of our closest friends coming in a different car, including our very gracious host who happened to live above a steakhouse called Medium Rare. The way the steak is cooked may shock you. I could fill pages with how much these people mean to me— and someday I will— but this is an ode to the District, not the childhood friends I have known for all of my life. Sorry, lads.

Washington D.C. is restless. Even atop the roof of a modern apartment complex, looking at the city due East, I felt a part of something great. It isn’t the noise that creates the atmosphere, like the ceaseless chatter of New York City. It isn’t the parties and pulsating music that keep people awake as in Miami. Nor the cicada’s hum and humid air that can be found further South. It is a more subtle, rumbling energy. To be front row in the fulcrum of power and realize that yesterday, today and tomorrow are all equally consequential days. A feeling of anticipation overtook me. I could have stayed awake all night thinking about that feeling, because the District never sleeps.

I started my morning with a metro ride sidelined for twenty minutes after a fight broke out between passengers. Stopping the subway because of violence? That could never happen in the Big Apple. At my destination— the National Mall, just off the Smithsonian stop— I started my morning with journaling and stretching. Sandwiched between the Washington Monument and Capitol building, surrounded by national museums, it is easy to feel like you’ve found a center point to the city’s powerful energy source. Tourists speaking dozens of languages walk, bike, and scoot around the lively lawn. Sixty degrees and sunshine in January only furthered my delusions of grandeur. In that moment I could have climbed the Washington Monument, soared above the city. I could have entered the Capitol— peacefully— and offered myself as Speaker of the House. Worth a shot.

Following a nice lunch in Chinatown with a college friend, I walked to the National Portraits Gallery past Ford’s Theater and the hotel at which I stayed in my first visit in the District. I’ve visited D.C. quite a few times, but never did I have the honor and opportunity to see so much of our country’s history portrayed through the awe inspiring portraits that defined who we are. Dead and live presidents stared back at gallery goers as if to defend their legacy. Carefully curated exhibits showed us the lows of the American story— removals of indigenous peoples, slavery, and rife inequalities— while also including the triumphs of the American story— achievements in the arts, sciences, democracy and freedom. Seeing so many faces on the walls and stooping to read their placards validated their indelible mark on our history. 

That night my friends and I roamed through the manicured red brick streets of Georgetown. Lights from the city and the colossal Kennedy Center set the Potomac aglow while people milled about and enjoyed the brisk night. The waterfront is packed with boats and parties during the summer, so it was refreshing to know that winter does not deter the District from enjoying this scenic spot. The holidays, if anything, added to the buzz. Wreaths and lights adorned lamp posts and a looping ice rink took center stage. After a hearty dinner, we stayed awake until dawn playing card games and laughing like we were always did, because the District never sleeps.

We awoke to rain on a late morning. I find there is no better way to discover a city’s honest identity than when it is raining. It allows you to see which people venture out of the comfort of their homes to hear the rain beat against concrete sidewalks and smell it against asphalt streets. City secrets reveal themselves in these quiet moments. I set out by metro to find refuge in a warm and cozy bookstore cafe called Kramers in Dupont Circle. A pot of tea and eggs with potatoes and bacon helped clear my head and gave me motivation to work on some speechwriting and digital maintenance.

I’m convinced that bookstores and casinos are a lot alike. You can easily spend an eternity inside without knowing what time it is and you will spend more money than you hoped. Soft sounds in the bookstore— clinking silverware, muted conversations, doors opening and closing— focused my attention as I shifted to journaling about my memories of 2022 and hopes for 2023. Before leaving, I did my civic duty and spent money on an assortment of trinkets—a beanie, fridge magnet, and bookmark. Indie bookstores deserve the world.

Instead of taking a quick metro ride home I opted to walk the 25 minutes to Foggy Bottom and run back the mental tape of written down memories from the year. It is hard to appreciate your own growth while in the same place. Sometimes it is easier to leave wherever you are in order to openly and objectively reflect upon your own personal journey. My mind moved at the same pace as my feet while counting my blessings and considering my goals.

Cars splashed the sidewalks and the excitement of New Year’s Eve parties, though dampened by the weather, started to pulse through everyone I passed. Couples shared umbrellas and large groups huddled under awnings, calling Ubers or ducking into the bars already filling up by midday. 

The gritty grey city showed its true face, which pulled me in all the more. When asking myself if I could see myself living there, I needed a foundation for a day that would not be glitzy and glamorous, full of sun and tourist traps. I needed to experience what a real day in my life would be like. There will be days in any city when it is raining and I am alone and cold and feeling reflective. In Kramers and walking along Connecticut Avenue I gained helpful clues to my questions.

New Year’s Eve went like most do. Friends laugh and dance, loud music covers clinking shot glasses, and the magic of turning the calendar fades into a murmur before the morning. At brunch my friends and I ordered a standard New Year’s Day special: eggs with tots, life-saving coffee, and a celebratory mimosa. We spent the day at the National Mall walking around the monuments that never age. Lincoln sat as firmly as the first time I saw him— and yes, the Washington Monument is still very tall. 

The sun felt good on our skin and gave us the energy to reminisce on all our year’s past. We clung to a few more precious hours of pretending we were not all adults living in different cities before facing reality on the road trip back to New York. Every second spent with my lads is just as meaningful as all the memories we share from years of growth and adventure. I’ll follow them until the end.

Spending the new year in a different city helped give me a fresh perspective. I needed time to consider my goals for my future career, studies, relationships, and personal journey. Not to draw conclusions, but to make inferences. Put your future in front of you and it becomes a lot easier to envision. My time in the District renewed my ambition and desire to dream big. Whether it’s eventually in Washington or anywhere else, I am grateful for this chapter of my life and as excited for the next chapter as I have ever been. 

Finally home in my warm bed, I wished I could have a clear view of federal white buildings under dark skies. I lay awake dreaming about the city containing America’s pulsing, powerful and political heart. The District never sleeps; it beckons.