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…and the Golum’s heart grew three sizes this year

Christmas was never a big deal in family, so this year when I opted to stay here (New York) instead of going there (Los Angeles), there was a lot less hand-wringing than I had anticipated. The concern I had for my poor, Jewish mother dissipated with a Christmas Day Skype session, and suddenly I was off the hook. 

In the week leading up to Christmas Itself, I refrained from telling my friends how worried I really was. Ordinary events that I could have conquered throughout the year now seemed daunting. I worried about feeling alone, despite spending every day with loved ones. I worried about having no one to eat Chinese food with, or going to the movies by myself. Even the most mundane outings are given a kind of gravitas when paired with “—on Christmas.” 

That creeping loneliness, however, never arrived. From the moment my work hiatus went into effect I was caught up in the maelstrom of Holiday Spirit. Monday was the co-workers’ dinner at Peter Luger’s, where I couldn’t have bought my own drinks if I tried. Tuesday I called into the Christmas episode of my favorite radio show, however briefly. The next day, a trip to Queens to the cafeteria at the Hindu temple. Thursday, a mixtape exchange. Christmas Eve was spent in the presence of other, like-minded 20-somethings, at a friend’s “no parents pizza party” complete with Home Alone 2 playing off a hard drive in the living room. 

Yesterday, my best friend and I celebrated the Day Of with a trip to Spa Castle. I’ll spare you the superlatives and instead direct you to their website, which gives you a pretty clear idea of how ridiculous this place was. The irony of spending a Winter holiday at a waterpark was not lost on me.

I did everything I could to ensure that I wouldn’t be spending the holidays alone and, lo and behold, I didn’t. I thought about my past Christmases in Los Angeles - driving around by myself, frantically trying to coordinate playdates with old friends, each with their own laundry list of holiday plans - and only then did I feel the loneliness that I had steeled myself against this week.

Going back to Los Angeles has always felt a little regressive, I have to admit. No, I don’t have to deal with small-town anxiety or cabin fever (or even snow!) when I fly home for the season, but each year it becomes more and more apparent to me that California is no longer my home. When your vacation feels like a business trip, take it as a sign that it’s time for a change of plans. 

Earlier in the week, a friend had commented about my surplus of “holiday spirit.” She suspected that, because I hadn’t celebrated Christmas as a child, I was celebrating twenty-three years’ worth in one shot. While there is a case to be made for the religious-cultural explanation, I suspect there’s something larger at work. If the holiday season is really about celebration and camaraderie, then my surplus of good will and good vibes is easy to explain. This was the first year that I chose my own adventure, and the company I venture with. Not the best analogy, I know, but forgiveness is what the holidays are all about, right? 

  1. mattchait said: “hang-wringing”
  2. carolinestreet posted this