I’m Not a Fan of the Holidays—But This Year It’s Different |
The holidays have never been cozy for me. Quite the opposite: I used to fight my way through them. Literally. December became a season of what in the olden days of Twitter we dubbed “discourse”—a time to yell at people online just to feel something.
My mom is Jewish and my Dad grew up Catholic, but by the time they adopted me, neither of them were particularly religious. We didn’t have a Christmas tree or menorah, and gift giving was pretty low-key. Sometimes we did some Kwanzaa-adjacent celebrations, but it was all fairly tame.
The holidays weren’t traumatic or sad in our family—they just weren’t a big deal. When I got older, I found that modern holiday culture, with its hyper-commercial focus, leaves very little room for anything other than visible happiness. That can be brutal if you’re single, far from family, or grieving someone who’s no longer there.
For most of my adult life, the stretch between Thanksgiving and January has been something to endure, not enjoy. It was a seasonal exercise in survival, punctuated by Twitter fights.
The topic didn’t really matter; the motivation was always the same. I was lonely. I was tired. I was bored. And arguing was easier than admitting that this time of year made me feel untethered while everyone else seemed firmly rooted in family, plans, and belonging somewhere.
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Not knowing where I belong has been a theme throughout my life. For too many years, this feeling defined the holidays for me.
Other people disappeared into their December lives of travel and tradition, and I stayed behind on Twitter—back when it was somewhat fun, before the Nazis took over—convincing myself that jumping into the........