Single at Christmas.
My brain scheduled a meeting with my heart today. “It’s coming,” it declared with an emphatic nod.
My heart, pretending to be coy while resting on my sleeve, whispered “What?”
“Christmas.”
Held afloat only by deflating optimism, my heart fluttered and sank.
There is a self-imposed shame on being single at Christmas. It’s quite easier to be unattached on Valentine’s Day, when we can bash the day as a capitalistic opportunity to prey on love struck souls and failing marriages. The Fourth of July allows us to hide behind sparklers at the neighborhood barbeque and New Year’s Eve brings a resolution to find new love.
But Christmas? The scarlet badge of singlehood is inescapable.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” reduces us to garbled comments about enjoying the day off, peace and quiet, not working, walking the dog, not spending any money…all code for I’M ALONE but we don’t use the word. We can’t wait to return to work when “How was your Christmas?” can be quickly tossed back to the interviewer, narrowly allowing us to escape further explanation.
There is a certain heightened giddiness that comes with getting through the holidays, as if joyous moments with family, friends and partners somehow translates to a task. There is a heaviness that clouds our judgment and in desperation, we contact old lovers in hopes of a Christmas miracle…only to find that an “ex” is extra obnoxious a year later. We juggle pity invites and wage an internal war with our pride. We listen in disbelief as coupled friends complain about traveling to his family’s house this year, or the god damn mother-in-law’s condo that smells like cats.
A destination is the ultimate declaration of belonging. You have somewhere to be. And someone to be there with. You have been chosen.
But if you’re single at Christmas, remember this. Perception is always reality. While your friends are exhausted from fighting with Aunt Susan, or staying up all night with an IKEA wrench, or flying to Texas to visit Uncle Joe because you know this might be his last year…you are free to do nothing. Or anything. There is a line from my favorite Eagles song, “The Sad Café” and it reads:
“I don’t know why fortune smiles on some, and let’s the rest go free.”
Sometimes being alone is liberating. Accept the invite and then leave whenever you want. Visit ten friends instead of the annoyingly loud relative who constantly reminds you that you’re not getting any younger. Fly to Vegas. Hike a mountain. Bring your dog. And wait for Valentine’s Day.
