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Hello my dearest fellow Loungers
When I think of Christmas, I can’t help but be transported back in time to when I was a little girl, and we spent the holidays at our house in Betty’s Bay. Dad would get a real pine tree, and when I close my eyes, I can still smell it.
Back then, the town didn’t have electricity yet, and Mom, with her incredible artistic talent, somehow managed to secure little birthday candles onto the branches. We never once had to call the fire brigade; the candles just… stayed there, stuck on those branches!
The highlight of the evening was always when Mom lit the candles on the tree. It was magical.
Grandparents would join us on Christmas Eve for a festive meal and the opening of presents, because Dad usually had to preach on Christmas Day. Before opening presents, Dad, being the preacher, would always start with the story of why we celebrated Christmas. It wasn’t about the presents. It was because Jesus was God’s gift to the world. On Christmas day, after church, everyone would return home for a light lunch. (Yes, the dads never escaped the socks. Not once.)
Christmas time was always my favourite time of the year. As soon as the lights and decorations went up in the shops, my own tree and lights followed. And no, 1 November is never too early to put up a Christmas tree.
What made it really special was the time spent with family.
Later, I had children of my own, and the “traditional” way I experienced Christmas began to change. After my divorce, it changed even more. I still spent Christmas with family, but I wanted my children to experience that same magical feeling I remembered. They mostly went to their dad, where Christmas was done big. I wanted those memories for them.
Gradually, Christmas became “just another day” for me. I’d catch myself thinking, oh, yay… another Christmas.
This year, however, will be the first time in my existence on planet Earth that I’ll wake up on Christmas morning and truly realise that I am alone.
Not quiet-for-now alone.
Not everyone’s-running-late alone.
But like the movie Home Alone – alone… except there’s no mischievous eight-year-old, no booby traps, and no music to set the mood.
Just me, along with the subtle awareness that this day looks nothing like it was “supposed” to.
I didn’t plan my first Christmas alone.
Nobody does.
Movies don’t prepare you for this version either, where the decorations seem to judge you a little and the cheer feels like it’s happening somewhere else, without you.
And yet… here I am. My very first Christmas alone, with many conflicting feelings.
On the one hand, I’m grateful for the quiet. Grateful for the privilege of rest.
On the other hand, there is a silent kind of grief.
The kind that softly speaks in your mind:
Is this it now? Is this what the future looks like?
But here’s the thing nobody tells you.
Being alone on Christmas doesn’t mean anything terrible. It’s just… different. It’s just a chapter. An uncomfortable one, perhaps.
It’s a chapter where things get quiet enough for the truth to come up; not the scary lies, but the honest truths.
Like:
- I am still here.
- I survived a year that nearly broke me.
- I don’t have to perform joy to deserve rest.
- Quiet does not mean empty.
- I didn’t lose any loved ones this year to illness, accidents, or old age, and for that, I am deeply grateful.
This Christmas doesn’t need to sparkle.
It doesn’t need matching pyjamas or a table full of people.
Tomorrow can simply be about staying.
Staying kind to myself.
Staying present.
Staying open to the idea that next Christmas may look nothing like this one.
Kevin McCallister eventually found his people again in Home Alone.
And so will I.
For now, I light a candle, not to celebrate, but to be present.
And that is enough.
I’m not telling this story for sympathy. If anything, it’s made me more aware of how lucky we are to have family and friends.
This Christmas, be extra kind. Hug your loved ones for a few seconds longer. Savour the moments you have with those you hold dear.
May you all have a BLESSED Christmas!
See you soon.
Much love,
Suz
The Lounge Philosopher
The Lounge Philosopher 