I set up my Christmas tree. Last year, I didn’t do it. Everyone say Christmas has a special glow. And literally, the streets fill with lights like stars, and people seem to be happier than usual. While for some, the Christmas tree lights and the Star of Bethlehem symbolize renewed faith, for others, Christmas is a reminder of absences, of hugs that are no longer there, or of moments that are left in the past.
I’ve spent some Christmases alone, without a full table, without children’s laughter, or long conversations over coffee. That’s how life wanted it, and I’m grateful that it turned out that way. Those nights carry a peculiar weight, because they teach you to listen to the silence and embrace it like an old friend. However, it is in that solitude where one discovers the magic of gratitude. This feeling of gratitude is special because it only appears when you understand why you should feel grateful. And many prefer not to understand and go through life like old grumpy people during the holidays.
Charles Dickens wrote in “A Christmas Carol” that no one is truly alone as long as they have the ability to love. That love doesn’t always have to come from others; sometimes, the greatest gift is learning to love yourself. Christmas is not measured by the number of people in your living room, but by what you carry in your heart. Like Ebenezer Scrooge, we all face our ghosts. There are years when Christmas forces us to look into a mirror: What am I doing with my life? Who have I forgotten? What scars do I need to heal?
Christmas teaches you that there is only one type of family—the one you choose and the one you choose above all things. Christmas taught me that family is not always biological. Sometimes, it’s an unexpected call, a message that makes you smile, or a stranger who shares with you an act of kindness. These connections are what save you in the darkest moments. I’ve learned to value every little gesture: the hug from an aunt, the message from a far-away friend, even the memory of a happy Christmas from my childhood. These details are fragments of light that fill the voids.
Some criticize this season calling it “consumerist,” but I defend it. Because behind every purchase, there is a story. There’s the small business that has been preparing for months for this season, dreaming of a year-end that makes a difference. There’s the family that depends on you selling that pair of shoes, that cake made with love, or that handmade card that took hours of work. I don’t care if it’s consumerist or not. I choose to believe in the neighborhood baker, in the entrepreneur who fights every day to do something big with their passion, and in the young artisan who combines creativity and effort to offer you something unique. So, I wish the best to the small businesses this season.
If you asked me now, “What does Christmas mean to you?” I would answer that it is a necessary pause. Christmas teaches us that life is made of cycles, and that every memory, even the painful ones, helps us grow. It’s in the hug we give, the forgiveness we offer, the gift we give with love—not out of obligation. It’s in the smile we share with a stranger or the time we dedicate to those who need it most. Deep down, the meaning of Christmas is to remember that true wealth is not found in gifts but in moments.
As a child, I never had gifts under the Christmas tree. And it’s not something I feel victimized by; I only share it because I understand now that there is a much more important and true gift. That gift I’m talking about is invisible: it’s the gift of starting over, forgiving, and reconnecting with life.
During Christmas alone, I’ve learned to let go of expectations. I no longer expect Christmas to be perfect, because perfection lies in the imperfect: in the laughter in the middle of a kitchen disaster, in the hugs that come after a difficult year, or in the simple act of lighting a candle and staying silent. Now, instead of waiting for Christmas to bring me happiness, I try to bring happiness to Christmas. I strive to be more mindful, to appreciate those around me, and to find lessons even in the most complicated moments.
If one day you are alone at Christmas, gift yourself something different. Eat your twelve grapes, listen to Christmas music, call a friend you truly care about, write a letter to the one you love, or better yet, give yourself a moment of reflection. Be kind to yourself. And feel grateful for being fortunate and for knowing that you are fortunate.
As Dickens wrote: “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”
Because the true lesson of Christmas is not nostalgia, nor even happiness; it’s love in all its forms. It’s remembering that, even when you’re alone, you’re never truly empty. There’s always a corner of light waiting to be lit, and that flame lives within you. And as I said at the beginning, this year I did set up my Christmas tree and felt genuinely happy to do so.
No matter what time of year you read this;
I wish you a Merry Christmas.
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