After spending a few days preparing myself for what I had anticipated to be the worst Christmas ever, something happened. I spent much of Tuesday on hold on the phone with British Airways, waiting, occasionally even patiently, to speak to a representative; I went through the gamut of anger, tears, and acute loneliness. After about 3.5 hours, I was connected to a very kind service agent, who offered me a seat on the flight the next morning, carrying me and my angst from London Heathrow to ‘beautiful’ Newark, New Jersey, four days after my intended departure. I agreed to try one more time to come back stateside. I can’t tell you the relief I felt on Wednesday afternoon, crammed like a sardine under an itchy airline blanket when I felt that BA flight take off. Christmas was saved for this professed Grinch.
I just spent a week at my parents’ house in small-town Pennsylvania. I’m always reminded when I get a chance to be there for more than a few days how much it is still my “home,” even though I haven’t lived there in long time. When it came time to move away for college, I was ready to go. I know I would miss my family terribly (and I did) but I loved the change of scenery, and the chance to be on my own. After college, I didn’t move home, but to the big city in my part of the state, and then a few years later, I made the jump to New York City. Now, I get to call London my home for one glorious year. And yet, much as I love my adventures, and the freedom I have, every time I know I’m about to come home to my mom and dad’s house for a few days, I get unreasonably excited. There is something about being in that house with those people that will always mean “home” to me in the way that no place ever will.
I’m sitting on the train now, heading to New York City to spend time with my loves there, including my boyfriend. I just said a sniffly goodbye to my mom and dad on the train platform, and then, when comfortably in my Amtrak seat, had good long cry to the next station. We had a grand time together, carrying out all of our silly and wonderful holiday traditions (midnight mass, pancake breakfasts and underwear-on-the-head photos), which I realize I cling to more and more the further away I am. I couldn’t have asked for a more festive holiday. It’s a very tenuous feeling however, as my heart is so divided. I’m reminded of how comforting it was to be a kid, and, at Christmas time, to know that everyone you love will be in the same room at the same time to spend the holidays together. Being an adult involves an implicit challenge to go through life with a divided heart. Every time I move, I feel like a little more of me gets left someplace else. That feeling of contentment still washes over me, but in waves now, In the midst of all that however, it’s even more comforting to know that I always have a “home” to come back to, even for just a few days.
I can say with no hesitation at all that this is my favorite Christmas ever. I didn’t think I was going to make it home, and when I finally did, now I almost dread leaving. Spending Christmas Eve and Day dinners with both sides of my crazy family reminds how lucky I am. Lucky to have parents who love and have faith in me unconditionally, an extended family who may not understand my decisions, but is always interested in hearing about my adventures, and the love of my life who rearranged his work schedule 304567 times to always manage to meet me at the airport/train station/carrier pigeon house to be the first person to greet me on my way home. This Christmas, my favorite gift that I received (and there were a lot of them) was the reaffirmation that, while I may not have a lot of money or a lot of security in my life, I am loved so strongly by so many people. May bank account may be empty, but my heart is so very, very full. Like the Grinch I can be, my heart is three sizes too large. And that my friends has made this merriest Christmas of my 28 years.
Festive Wishes to You and Yours!
TGI
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