It is Xmas Day. I am on my own. No, this is not a plea for sympathy, not in the least, because it's a temporary state and soon to be ended. Indeed I'm glad of the chance to get a few things done by myself. But I woke up this morning beside the person I love most in the world, who also happens to be my best friend, and was soon joined by my other favoured companion. Who has just come to sit by me now, so I'm not all that alone after all. Here she is.
So we woke up, had a lie in, ate breakfast together, opened a few presents (including finding out that, as last year, we've managed to buy each other the same book) and now she's gone to her daughter's for a Xmas Day meal. I was invited, but have a long list of positive and negative reasons for being happy to opt out. Avoiding noisy kids, the son-in-law's brother who bangs on about his divorce, and the evidence based expectation that the culinary element might not be of all that high a standard seem like good enough reasons to me. With the added bonus of a long walk on a sunny day (OK, confession - I went to stick a Xmas card through a friend's letter box and no, I'm not going to explain why it wasn't sent or taken there days ago....), some playtime with the cat, and a chance to sit a write for a bit. There are times when being alone can seem much the preferable option.
I've only spent one Xmas Day literally on my own. That was the early eighties. I'd not long since bought my first house, where I lived on my own. Back then I lived in Hampshire. For reasons I now forget I'd decided not to travel back to Scotland that year (probably too broke!) and had no problem contemplating a 25th December sat down with full control of the telly. However I accepted an invitation from a friend to go to his for dinner. Xmas morning changed that when I awoke to find I had contracted that most toxic and debilitating of illnesses - man flu. So I spent the day in my dressing gown, stretched out on the sofa and had baked beans on toast for lunch (there may even have been cheese involved). Did I feel sorry for myself? Not in the slightest, other that the degree of self pity which is the natural prerogative of the human male stricken with a snotty nose. I enjoyed the day as much as any other, but then I've always been a bit of a loner by nature.
Perhaps the best aspect of a day like that was having no need to meet the expectations of others. It was the case then, and is even more so now, that everyone, or what feels like everyone, decrees that Xmas day must be 'special'. That there should be traditions and excessive quantities of food and drink and presents and general over-the-topedness. It fits in so well with the mores of our capitalist, greed-is-good society to promote the spending-is-best ethos. And making that one day 'special' for ourselves and others, has become yet another form of validation that applies pressure to increase the debt mountains, fuel the pay day loaners, be someone other than who you might otherwise be. If you don't have, and deliver to others, that 'special' day then you are worth less as a human being. Does it have to be this way?
As I said above, I'm on my own for now, but far from lonely. But there are many people in the UK who may not see anyone at all today. For some that will be just fine, as it was for me that time. It may even be a positive choice, and nobody should be able to make them feel the worse for that decision. ("Oh, you're not really going to spend Xmas day on your own, are you....?", complete with pitying tone.) For some there will be greater joy in knowing they've avoided the family rows than having to take part in them.
For others it is just one more lonely day in a sequence where human contact is a rarity and they would give anything to change that situation. Being constantly bombarded with the image of today as one to share, to give and be given to, to celebrate, may feel like being laughed at by the whole world. Is anyone surprised that the suicide rate increases over the Xmas period?
It's been good to dip into the Twitter hashtag #joinin today and see social media at it's best, giving those who feel the need or desire the chance to share their day with others. It might not be the same as face to face contact, but at least virtual friends don't hold grudges about the present they got from Auntie Margaret five years ago.
So how does this 'special' work? For some it's that quirky family tradition that's repeated every year. Others want change, the shock of the new, a break from the fusty sameness that some seem to revel in. And there are those who'd like to ignore the whole event, thank you very much, and resume a sensible life when all the frivolities have subsided.
Me? I'm somewhere in the middle. My Bah, Humbug! instincts are softened by my wife's love of a bit of tinsel and a few candles. Were I on my own I doubt a tree would make an appearance in the Crawford residence, but I'd make a bit of an effort when celebrating with others. See, I'm even wearing one of my festive waistcoats today.
Special is whatever works for you, it's the laugh you had, the mouthful you ate, the look out the window. It's the cat looking pleadingly at you for food (she made me write that, honest). I hope you have, had, a special day, whatever that means to you. I hope that every one of your days, hyped or otherwise, contains their special moment. And if 'special' to you is doing nothing like the things that you're told are special to others then so be it.
Make your own Special.
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