A tree-trimming party

I bailed on a tree-trimming party last night. A good friend of mine was hosting and I had told her earlier in the day that I’d drop by after work. But as the end of my day was approaching I realized I wasn’t up to attending a social gathering. It was cold. I’d spent all day freezing my ass off in that shop watching the winter squall go off and thinking how I can’t wait to move to a place where winter isn’t a thing. All I wanted to do was go home. So I bailed. I sent that text that we all know so well only this time I sent it without any guilt. I knew I did what was best for me and that my friend would understand. I chose myself first.

I haven’t been feeling the holiday spirit so much these days. I’m very aware that it’s that time of year but the magic just isn’t there. Is that what happens when we get older? Am I becoming disenchanted? Maybe a little. It happens in moments like when I’m handwriting holiday cards for other people’s gifts with the most impersonal, generic, dull messages. “Happy holidays. Thanks for all of your help this year.” There’s no heart and not much thought behind those words. They’re unremarkable. Yea, that kind of shit disenchants me.

When I got home I lit my pine-scented candle, poured myself a glass of wine, pulled out my guitar and played Christmas songs for myself. It was oddly perfect. My own little tree-trimming party. A small, unexpected, self-administered dose of holiday cheer.

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