Today is Christmas. It doesn’t feel special. I think that’s all right.
I was a kid who thought Christmas was magical. I wanted to sleep in the living room because I loved the Christmas tree and the Christmas lights so much. I liked presents, of course, but I was more excited about the spirit of the season. (I was much less cynical then).
This Christmas was fine. I went to see family yesterday and I survived – it was actually pretty pleasant. I had dinner with friends and went to a beautiful candlelight church service. Today I had dinner with more friends. But nothing about the weekend has felt special.
I miss the special feeling and I think that it’s likely this way not only because I’m an adult, because I’m single and I’m alone. I mean, I was with friends, but they were all coupled up and were all going home to exchange presents with their spouses. I went home and read a book. Which is, again, fine. But not special.
However, I’m not crying. I’m not sad this Christmas, and I don’t feel hopeless. I have no despair. So I guess I’ll take the so-so ordinary feeling as an improvement.