I remember liking Christmas. As a child of course, because I received all sorts of fabulous things. I would call my best friend after lunch and we’d compare loot. I always got clothes and generally loved them. I got books regularly and toys when I was young enough for them.
After a time I began to like it less. The excitement was gone. My mother was moody on holidays, and dampened the festive spirits. The clothing wasn’t my style anymore. I asked my mom to stop getting me clothes. Mostly because I didn’t like her choices, but I told her I wanted to simplify.
I began to like it less as I became more aware of the stupidity and cost. People rushing to purchase obligatory gifts for loved ones they don’t really know. Gifts often returned the next day. People spending exorbitant amounts for frivolity. More excuses to be drunk and make poor choices.
Last Christmas was the first spent without my family. My roommates were away with their families, and I worked and spent some time with a few friends. I bought a computer after mine died a horrible death. It arrived on Christmas Eve, a great self-gift.
I was not with my family again this Christmas.
This Christmas I gave myself a broken heart.
Perhaps next year I can share Christmas with someone and really appreciate it. I don’t have to be lonely in a room of happy people and my own sundered heart.