I'll Be (Stuck) Home For Christmas
Through COVID each holiday has been a new, horrific milestone. A few weeks ago I was writing about the loss of Trick-or-Treating. Even then it didn’t occur to me that I wouldn’t be going home for Christmas
Giphy
Recently I’ve been undergoing the standard pandemic travel questioning: When are you going back to Ottawa? Do you think it’s safe? How will you get there? Are trains even running? Can you get a test?
The stress is overwhelming, and the whole ordeal seems futile. Over Thanksgiving it felt like I was sneaking into the capital, and this time Ottawa Public Health isn’t messing around:
As such, I’ve made the choice not to go to Ottawa. It’s turned into a real How the COVID Stole Christmas scenario.
I’m not going to use this newsletter to guilt you if you are planning on travelling. Being at home is important. In fact, a third of Canadians plan to visit friends and family for the holidays despite the pandemic.
Really we're all choosing the lesser of two evils: putting ourselves at risk, or being alone for Christmas.
By following the rules my favourite holiday traditions have been stripped away. No photo with Santa, no Taffy Lane (if you know, you know), no family baking, no 9-year-old brother waking me up at the crack of dawn to see what Santa left, no dad making fun of me for being groggy as hell at 6am, no cat to chase balls of wrapping paper.… It just doesn’t feel like Christmas at all.
The emotional part isn’t finding new ways to celebrate, it’s knowing that those old ways are still happening without me. My spot on the couch is empty, and Santa’s letter will have different handwriting this year. The big man doesn't stop his route if I don't make it back home on time.
As heartbreaking as that all is, there’s also a relief in staying behind. I don't have to justify why I'm blue for Christmas, and I can let this holiday season ride out without the usual markers. It doesn't have to be a monumental occasion if I'm not going anywhere.
Actual footage of me writing this newsletter.
No one wants to be the cotton-headed ninny muggins that isn’t excited for the holidays or the dreaded dad who does work on Christmas Eve. In choosing not to travel, I've taken myself out of the holiday equation entirely. Now I'm not a Scrouge, I'm just being safe.
The miracle of Canada Post
I’m Going to Email Santa
Which might actually be the only way to reach him....
Deciding to stay in the city brings its own wave of challenges. One of my usual holiday activities is the mad rush to finish shopping. I'm usually wrapping my final gifts on the 24th and sneaking them under the tree moments before Santa comes.
This year Christmas came early in the worst possible way.
Canada Post warns that national packages have to be mailed by December 9th to 16th to get in on time for the 25th.
My last card went in the mail yesterday morning, and the resounding question is “now what?” There’s a simultaneous urgency and lull to this COVID Christmas. I spent the last few days stressed about getting everything to the post office, and now I have two weeks of empty space. It feels like rushing into a relationship only to realize you don’t actually like that person.
Maybe the better example is showing up to a date way too early. You can’t leave because there isn’t enough time to do anything, but waiting inside would be uncomfortable. Instead you flounder around aimlessly until it's an appropriate time to go in.
Hilariously, the best part of Christmas is usually the anticipation. As a kid there’s no stress, shopping, or travelling on your brain. You spend your time counting down the days until Christmas morning. As an adult there's a degree of excitement in watching children experience the magic. Moreover, there's turkey, vacation days, and boxing day deals to look forward to.
This year that anticipation has fallen into a void. What's a vacation day when we've been stuck at home for months? Who's cooking a turkey for two? Christmas looks different, and no one is excited about it.
We're all in holiday purgatory.
It’s a Wonderful Life
The holidays are synonymous with stress for a lot of people in general. Throw in a pandemic, and I’m sure I’m not the only one simply NOT having a wonderful Christmas time.
When the second COVID wave hit, a Canadian Mental Health Association survey found 1 in 10 participants had had suicidal thoughts in September. Those numbers come before daylight savings threw us into seasonal darkness, so I can only assume it's gotten worse from there. We're all struggling, and we all underestimated how isolating this time period would be.
The advantage to pandemic life is that no one expects you to be happy. You can suffer in silence without anyone asking you to sing songs and spread cheer. Christmas, however, is a different story. During the holidays it’s glaringly obvious if you aren’t as shiny as the rest of the bulbs on the tree. The season is supposed to be joyous, and one bad light can ruin a whole string.
On one level it’s a relief to not be going back to Ottawa. Keeping up appearances is harder than wallowing, and not everything can be fixed with a pretty bow. It would be much harder to be around people with a stocking half-empty attitude than it is to eat cookies alone on my couch.
A beautiful article by Matt Haig points out that Christmas is depressing because it comes with such high expectations. There’s an idea of the season that we constantly strive for and seldom achieve. Haig points out that “the knowledge that something should make us happy forces us to think about happiness – and how much we lack it.”
Christmas won’t ever measure up to the experience we had as kids. The way we celebrate changes as we age. Families grow or divide, kids stop believing, and the holidays switch from magical to stressful in a matter of years. People won’t except my macaroni art as gifts anymore, and getting spoiled isn’t nearly as fun when there are added expectations on your behaviour - showing up empty-handed is rude, going over budget is tacky. As a kid all you have to know is how to say “thank you” when you get something you don’t like. Now we hemorrhage money just to stay on everyone’s Christmas card lists.
Not only that, but we are bombarded with everyone else's good times. My instagram feed turns into a Hallmark collage of gingerbread houses, tacky sweaters, and engagements every December. I turn into a Grinch watching the festivities on my phone screen and thinking that everyone is having more fun than me. The fact of the matter is that people who aren’t having a great Christmas tend not to broadcast it.
Oh Christmas Tree
Through it all I'm trying to cling to the bit of Christmas magic I have left, but lately it's been tough.
I see glittering trees in condo windows and pull ridiculous, morbid parallels to my life. I too am separate from my family, slowly drying out, and dressing up to feel better. Like a Christmas tree, no amount of tinsel will bring me back to life.
What I need is time to sit quietly in the corner of the room and shed my 2020 needles. I need to be put out in the curb in the New Year to be repurposed into something new. I don’t want to cap this year off with a reflection and hurrah, instead let’s put it behind us and move forward without any expectations of sentimentality.
We can take our milk and cookies to go, please and thank you
