In the quiet darkness of a December morning, before the thick ribbon of bright pink sunrise expands, pulling the winter sun from the horizon line, there is a beautiful weight to the stillness.
A grounding force. A reminder to embrace the silent morning, before the Silent Night.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the sofa in the living room with the dog’s tiny body nestled against my hip, the cat stretched out across the back of the sofa, a paw jutted out, buried in my hair. The white lights on our Christmas tree glow in the corner of the room, reflected on the shiny ornaments we’ve collected over the years.
I’m holding my favourite coffee mug in both hands resting on my lap. It’s a large black mug with a bulbous shape, a copper heart painted on the face of it. The swirl of steam off the coffee fills my senses, and the warmth of the mug in my hands is comforting in the cool morning.
My lap is covered by a thick, warm polar bear blanket, a Christmas gift from years gone by. This is bliss. This quiet alone time is a gift I intentionally give myself in the spirit of the holiday.
Beyond our front window the white street light points downward, creating a triangle of stark white light on the pavement below. It will dim shortly. Meanwhile, the windows of adjacent homes are dark, though some lawns have Christmas lights wound through the greenery. There are no cars driving. No dog walkers walking. Too soon. Too early. Not yet.
This is my Christmas moment for myself, where my spirit rests long enough to reflect, to take stock, to appreciate that the season is one of hope, peace and love – only in this moment, I’m allowing myself to hold those things for myself.
Hope for the simple joys of traditions old and new. Peace of mind that I’ve done the best I could this holiday to make ends meet, to hold space and have patience, to do good deeds. To let people be who they are, as they are and not whack them over the head with a roll of Christmas paper (yet). To love myself enough to know I deserve a quiet morning, a cup of coffee and solitude.
This is when I meet up with all the ghosts of my Christmases past. I swear I can feel their presence swirl around the room. Here I sit and let the visions of memories of holidays play like a movie reel through my mind. Faces, moments, laughter, traditions, all of it, years and years of Christmases that have evolved in meaning for me.
It’s a nostalgia that takes hold on this holiday in a way no other holiday conjures for me. There is joy. There are voices I miss, sounds that I can still hear in the echo of memories.
There are also characters that no longer play a role in my story, and there is comfort in that too. Chapters close.
For all the focus on family at Christmas, I give myself permission to have the peaceful resolution that comes with letting go of those who aren’t good for me or the people I love. There is no sadness, no anger, just the release that boundaries are love too.
Above all, there is profound gratitude for what once was, as much as there is for what is now, and the awareness that every Christmas is a renewal of what will be. This is bliss.
