Christmas story

No fiction this Friday, just some holiday reflections.

I hate to fly. Flying terrifies me. I sit in a tense ball, furtively glancing between the book that’s supposed to distract me and the world whizzing by at 35 thousand feet. But, for once, I was sitting calmly in my seat watching the sunrise. I may have even been humming a Christmas tune.

For the six years previous to this trip, Christmas had been only a lukewarm happiness for me. I’d trapped myself and my ex-husband in a debacle of a marriage doomed to failure. The year before my divorce, my unspoken hostilities combined with the stress of the holidays and an impending move made Christmas 2005 a disaster.

So much rubble lay behind me. In a period of six months, I’d managed to get a divorce and come out of the closet. For the first time in six years, I was filled with a sense of hope and rebirth.

Christmas had been this time that was about trying to fill spiritual holes with material goods, feigned joy over electronics, baked goods and clothing. We merely went through the motions every year because we thought that kept the piece and held us together. But the wedges were silently working, slowly but surely.

During the disastrous Christmas of 05, I remember crying silently in a locked bathroom begging to be normal. Begging for all those thought crimes to go away. Begging to not be who I really am. Insanity assuredly.

The truth of the matter was all I wanted for Christmas was happiness. And, sadly, happiness could never come in the form of an iPod, a Coach purse or a Kitchen Aid mixer. Happiness comes from the heart and mine was so broken all it could produce was bitter acrimony.

I was reflecting over all of this at 35 thousand feet when it occurred to me how freaked out I’d normally be in this situation.

“Curious,” I said in almost a whisper, nearly waking the passenger next to me. But it didn’t take me too long to come to the conclusion that when you live each day feeling trapped in the prison of your own mine, every little thing is a terrifying experience. Merely waking up can feel like being the protagonist in a Stephen King novel.

But I wasn’t trapped any more. My divorce was final. I had come out to all the people that were important. I felt free.

I landed at Reagan National Airport early that afternoon. It was the first time I’d seen my parents since I’d tearfully come out to them on the phone. It happened in a rush and not at all the way I wanted but I had at least told them. I was more than a little nervous about finally seeing them.
But within minutes my mother’s infectious Christmas spirit had washed away any concerns I had and we were slogging through DC traffic planning all the holiday traditions we were going to cram into my brief visit.

I don’t know if it was exhaustion or relief or a combination thereof, but I slept better that night than I had in years. It was the first time I allowed myself to feel that everything really was all right. That whole trip laughter seemed harder, smiles felt like they wound all the way through my body and for the first time in six long years I relaxed. Really relaxed.

I didn’t get a lot of material things that year, but it was truly the richest Christmas I’ve had in memory. I’d started to make new friends here at home, including one who has become my blonde twin. I had the warmth and love of my family. And best of all, I had myself back. What wondrous gifts.

Over the last two years, some of those friends have grown into my chosen family. In fact, they’ve even begun to spend time with my blood family. And as I look forward to this Christmas, I’m giddy with the anticipation of spending my first one with the girlfriend. I’m also looking forward to spending time with some of the gang at GLO. All of that so far eclipses anything that could be purchased in a store.

May you and yours have a most joyous holiday season whatever you may celebrate. I hope to see some of you out at GLO on Christmas Day. The blog will take a little holiday break until the 25th. Best wishes for a joyous holiday!