The gradual shift towards winter and Christmas has hit me square in the feels. I love Christmas and I also really love winter. There is an energy in the air that floats around during the season. Plus, writing in winter is the best. The cold weather, gloom dimmed clouds and visible breath are amazing world makers.
This is going to be my first Christmas alone. There, I said it, and it hurts. A lot.
I fucking love Christmas. I love having a lofi Christmas soundtrack as I skin up a sneaky early morning Christmas pinner. I love cooking more food than is necessary, eating a fraction of it and having days worth of leftovers in the fridge. I love watching Home Alone, drinking brandy after lunch and eating pasteles de boniato my favourite of all the Spanish Christmas goodies. Then there is the inevitable food coma that kicks in around 45 minutes into Die Hard. Followed by a late afternoon / early evening nap. The snuggling on the couch with my wife and all the dogs, each fighting for a squeeze of space and physical contact.
Good lord, I fucking love Christmas.
Not this year. Nope. Not this fucking year. 2021 has taken so much from me, and I fear that this year it is going to go full Grinch and steal Christmas as well. Not even the lofi Christmas music is getting me out of my funk. There'll be no dogs this Christmas. No snuggling on the couch. No physical contact. Nope. Just me, on my ace, with John McClane and Kevin McCallister to keep a sad old fuck company.
Rituals give life order, they give life meaning. These wonderfully reliable and repeatable rituals give our lives a north star to fix direction upon.
What happens when our favourite rituals are so thoroughly bound up in the one that hurt us and took it all away? What is there to celebrate in failure?
I honestly have no answers. I do know that I am still going to cook too much, eat too much, smoke too much, listen to Christmas lofi and watch Home Alone and Die Hard. Who knows, maybe I will leave the flat and walk along the river. Go out and have a coffee. Who fucking knows. One thing is for sure, I guess it is time to start a few new rituals. I just wish I was ready to start them with someone else. Because more than anything, that is what I miss the most. That somebody else, there close by to complete Christmas, to finalise the specialness of this special day of excess.
