all I want for Christmas is you
2020: it's been some shit, huh
Earlier this month, I celebrated my birthday the way we’ve celebrated way too many things in our lives this year: mediated through a webcam, waving and talking with friends both nearby and half a continent away. It was…fine. Really! I saw some folks I hadn’t seen in forever and an age; some I’d actually never met face-to-face (that’s what growing up in the Age of the Internet™ does); and some whom I’d fleetingly seen in person through the pandemic.
As birthdays go, it was a good one. I hadn’t intended on doing anything; my partner urged me otherwise. It was a good decision: I forgot how much I missed people, and Meg got to meet some folks who really mean the world to me.
I spent Christmas Eve by myself. Though I am incredibly fortunate to have found love in the plague, Christmas Eve found me feeling achingly alone. I spoke with my family, again through video, pausing herkily-jerkily with the crosstalk. For lots of reasons, I am not close with them — and yet. And yet! I wanted to see them in person! I spent the day with my cats, left them (they live with my ex), and headed back to my house. Alone, alone, alone; we are alone, so many of us.
I see people traveling, and honestly, I get it. I don’t necessarily agree with it, but I get it. This year’s been so cruelly wretched, on so many levels, not needing elaboration, and I think so many of have reached the limits of our endurance. Nevertheless, we persist.
I am not a big holidays person — and yet, what I realize this evening is that the intricate web of social connections that get created and renewed every year around this time really, really mean so much to me. Is the emotional labor exhausting? Of course; and yet, it means so much to see someone you’ve seldom seen, and hug them.
God, the hugs! I miss hugging people so much. We’ve all taken each day as it comes, day by day, grateful for the dawn, thankful for the twilight, because so many of us whom we love will not see another. And yet: all those days and nights now add up to an entire lost fucking year of our lives.
This is the only time we have. It is so unfathomably brief, making each day, each hour so precious. It feels so unimaginably cruel to have lost a year the way we have, and that cruelty slammed into me with full force.
I listened to “Silent Night” and “O Holy Night” - my two favorite carols - and wept. There was a stretch when hopping on yet another video happy hour got wearisome, but damn it, watching my family last night through my computer screen, what I would’ve given for more calls last night.
My sister asked me earlier this month what I wanted for Christmas (I’m Jewish, but everyone else in my family is Christian, so I celebrate both Jewish and Christian holidays) and I couldn’t answer; I can now.
All I want for Christmas is you. You, my friends and family. No greater gift can I have this year, or any thereafter, than seeing you, hearing you, and God willing, someday soon, embracing you and sharing my love with you. The hope of a better day is so achingly close, and yet we’ve got a long, cold winter in between us and those days.
Merry Christmas. Happy holidays. Hug your family if you’re with them; if you’re not, call them, see them, and give them your love. This is the only time we have. I love you, and I’m here for you, even if I don’t write anywhere nearly as often as I should.
If you’re feeling lonesome: drop me a line. I’m happy to listen and talk, always.