The holiday season has been a bit of a blur this year. Immediately after Thanksgiving, Christmas barreled down on me like a runaway polar express train. But the days between Christmas and New Year’s dragged on for an eternity.

A few days ago, as the temperature was rising, and a thick mist was rolling off the frozen lake, I forced myself to get up and out of my easy chair, to take a walk. The fog was so dense I couldn’t even see two feet in front of me. I had to keep my eyes focused on my own two feet beneath me. I had to tread carefully, to keep myself from getting tripped up. It was all so metaphorically apt; the heavy haze around me, the hesitation in my steps… 

These days in late December are historically dangerous and dark. And although I knew that it wasn’t true, I felt as if I had been in that familiar fog forever.  Sometimes, when it starts creeping in, I can almost convince myself that it’s always been foggy. That it’s never been, and never will be clear again.

As I stepped slowly and reluctantly, a little voice inside me asked- How did I get here? Have I always been here, in this fog? I know the days are getting longer, deep down I know this season will pass, but will it ever be not hazy, not gray? 

Here, in the haze, where one year slips into another, I can feel time flying by and dragging along so slowly, and I wonder, what did I do this year? How did I even pass the time? What was it all about anyway? Who is this old person? Where am I? 

No- literally, where am I? I can’t tell how far I am from the house, because there’s actual fog all around me, and I’ve lost my bearings. 

Luckily, it’s a loop around the lake. So I kept walking around in circles, until I eventually found my way home. 

The next morning, I woke up to partly clear skies and intermittent sunshine. I stepped outside and turned my chin upwards. I let the light shine into my eyes and into my brain. 

I decided that we should take a hike. So I looked at the map app, and picked a random trail about 30 miles away, in a town we had never visited before.

The trail turned out to be a wind tunnel. We were walking into a strong and steady breeze. It was pressing into us and creating so much resistance. We were getting nowhere, slowly. Another frickin metaphor? 

We decided to stroll the town sidewalks instead. When we rounded the corner onto Every Struggling Main Street USA, we spotted a record store that we, of course, had to explore. 

Johnny walked through the door ahead of me, made a beeline for the record bins, and quickly started flipping through the LPs. As I stepped into the store behind him, my senses were assaulted. Loud metal music was playing over the speakers. The smell of incense was hanging heavily in the air. The lights were both low and bright at the same time. I looked beyond the record bins, and saw two pinball machines. 

I walked towards them, cautiously optimistic that they would be operational. When I got to the opening where I had seen the two machines, I realized I was surrounded by more than 10 of them! I stood in the center of the room and soaked it all in. The lights. The sounds.

Feeling drunk on nostalgia, I walked up to the metalhead man with long gray hair behind the counter, and excited words came gushing out of my mouth. Something like ‘Holy crap dude, this so cool. It’s like I’m in a teenage dream!’  He replied, super calmly, in a mono tone, not matching my energy at all, ‘Yeah. There’s lots more in the back. The building is 150 feet deep.’ ‘What?!’ I practically squealed, as I turned to head in that direction. 

I walked past a man playing pinball with his very young son in the 10 machine space, and through an open doorway. I stood at the entrance to a long narrow room, approximately 8 feet wide and 30 feet deep. The walls and ceiling were completely covered with blacklight posters. 

I vividly and viscerally remembered the very first time I dared to venture into the back room of Spencer’s gift shop at the Willowbrook Mall. I was a child but I felt grown in that room, surrounded by Pure Neon luminosity. 

I walked past the long row of machines, and came to another doorway, another long narrow room, full of machines. Then a left turn through another doorway, to another room, and more machines. I stood there, with my head spinning and my mouth open, amazed. I was lost in a trippy time slip, as the pinball machines called out for me to play.

In a heady daze, I walked back to John and said ‘Dude, you gotta see this! There’s an endless line of pinball machines!’ He mumbled a less than enthusiastic response, because he was fully immersed in his own 12 inch vinyl teenage dream. 

I reached into my wallet and fumbled around for quarters, but found none. So I sought out the change machine. I only had a 20 dollar bill. I slid into the slot and the machine made that sound that I immediately remembered, before dumping a small pile of quarters into the bowl below. I scooped them up quickly, and the machine dumped some more. Scoop. Dump. Scoop. My hands were overloaded, so I quickly threw some quarters into my bag. 

As I scooped up the final coin dump, my anticipation was escalating. All of the arcade memories in the depths of my mind were flooding to the frontal lobe. I could feel the adrenaline moving through me as I walked back to the long dark room with my heavy bag.

I stood in front of the AC/DC machine. I slid four quarters into the slot, pressed the glowing START button, flipped the flippers a few times to make sure they weren’t sticking. I drew back the launcher, paused there, poised, like an archer, released it as it struck the shiny silver ball and sent it up the alley to the first set of bumpers. 

The sound of the ball striking the bumpers, the machine calling out cues, the music, the lights flashing, my pupils dilating, hands hugging the sides of the machine, fingers on the flippers, my body swaying from side to side, as if to will the ball in the right direction.

And then, there it was. That feeling. Just like the first time, when I was standing barefoot on the warm concrete, in the tiny hallway arcade that smelled of salt air and chlorine, at a seaside hotel in the late 1970s. The rush of freedom, control, promise, potential. 

It’s almost the same sensation that I get when I play roulette, but it’s a lot less expensive. Almost the same feeling I get when I’m on a dark dance floor with friends. Almost the same feeling I get when I watch my kids perform/succeed/laugh. Almost the same feeling I get when I’m hyper-focused on writing. When I’m deep in meditation. 

It’s a rush of pure concentrated energy. It’s purposeful. Connected. Hopeful. And fun. Such fun. 

When I heard the Free Play POP!, I jumped, and my heart nearly exploded. That little voice inside me asked, How did I get here? Have I always been here, in this luminous place? Will it ever be not joyful, not fun? 

I know that things have changed, but can it possibly be that time has circled around on itself? Where have I gone? Who is this young person? Where has she been? 

No- really, where has she been? 

At that moment I knew, she had never left me. She was always there. She was with me, in the never-not-foggy place, and she had brought me around, to this luminous place, to show me the light that never goes out.

There. Shining through the back glass: PRESS START TO PLAY.