003 "Hushabye Mountain"

Dear Reader,

Forgive me for the post-Boxing Day correspondence, but Happy Christmas. I do hope you are well and that the holidays have been treating you well thus far. I must say, I seem to have lucked out and found my cup more full than I knew it could be.

I spent Christmas alone in London, which sounds both horribly lonesome and a little bit magical. There’s something about being on your own that’s always that way. It’s like being in limbo at all times. You’re swinging on a pendulum that takes pride in being unknown to the bulk of the world around you; it’s freeing in some sense.

Now, allow me to backtrack for a moment with some thoughts from my journal that I wrote the morning of the 24th, so I can truly set the scene for you emotionally.

It is, perhaps, the least like Christmas time it has ever felt. Maybe that just comes with the territory of getting older, being on my own for the first time during the bulk of the holiday seasons, or maybe it speaks to some larger shift in the collective holiday experience due to over commercialization, consumption, and an increasing lack of genuine, youthful joy— whatever it is, it’s Christmas Eve today and I’m inclined to believe something has broken all of our clocks.

I fear I’ve lost a bit of my whimsy, and it happened before I could stop it.

Now, stay with me, I don’t share this somewhat depressing excerpt for sympathy or to make you feel bleak. There’s a positive arc coming, I swear.

As it turned out, I didn’t wind up being that alone. You see, the neighbors invited me over for the Eve and Day, and what a lively bunch they are. Upon learning that I would be in the house by myself, they slipped an invite on a pretty little watercolor postcard of London through the slit of my front door. With a bit of anxiety about intruding and imposing, bound within my black leather boots, I knocked on their door and was welcomed in with cheek kisses and fond greetings.

I want you to picture the von Trapp family, but cut the number of kids down from seven to three, and add a crowd of other family members and three pups. Dress them all in tweed and medieval velvet gowns and give them more than enough champagne, mince pies, and steaming cups of tea to go around, that’s them. Those are my current neighbors, you can see the appeal, right? It’s no exaggeration when I say their home is one of unfailing charisma and unending generosity.

Here’s a bit of yesterday’s musings.

Christmas with the neighbors was unbelieveably warm and welcoming. They were such kind, eccentric hosts and some of the most generous people I’ve come to know— I’m reminded how lucky I am to be where I am. To be in the company of such perfect strangers is such a beautiful thing, and I know how cliche and sappy that sounds, but it’s something true and so it must be said. Between the silver paper crowns, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang sing-a-long, sketches, carols around the table, good laughs, lent ears, shared midnight mass offerings at the church around the corner, adventure in carrying a scared pup named Romero back to the house (it took three of us to carry and goad him back inside), Linkee games, earl grey tea, rare sweet wines, port and champagne, and tossed gifts— it was a Christmas like I’ve never known, but a good one at that. I wasn’t with my family, but I was graciously invited to be with a family.

And so, as I sit here now, actually alone, on Boxing Day with the light streaming into my bedroom window stirring me from my slumber, I can feel the weight of my cup settling into my grip. It is full and I can feel a bit of that lost whimsy returning.

It’s funny how things play out.

All this to say, though my real Christmas is delayed until January when my parents and sister come to visit, I had a good one on the day of. Thus, I write this to encourage you not to shy away from spending a holiday on your own. Of course, if you have the choice between being on your own or with those you love and are loved by, opt for the latter, but should you be in the same position that I was, don’t balk at the situation. You don’t know how it may pan out; anything could happen, for all you know, you could wind up in a square singing carols with Daniel Craig… true story, though I admittedly missed out on that (I was asleep, whoops).

Anyway, if my experience is anything to go by, it can work out quite splendidly. I mean, I wound up performing the role of the Wicked Queen in a comedy sketch, enjoyed two hearty meals (one of salmon and one of turkey), drank a load of expensive wines that I otherwise likely would have never had the pleasure of tasting, gabbed about Patti Smith with a fellow admirer, and walked away with ideas for new traditions, a bag of marshmallows, a tweed-lavender-scented-sachet, a mandala coloring book and new friends and stories to tell. Maybe I’ve lost my mind somewhere along the way I’ve been walking, but I’d say that’s not a bad way to round out this December.

I hope you’ve had a nice holiday season, whatever it is that you do or don’t celebrate. I will do my best to write up a true December recap before 2025 takes its final bow, but that’s all from me for the moment.

Take care and be well.