I am the first of the children in my family to not make it home for Christmas. Instead, I will be adventuring through Europe with a few of my friends. While this is an incredible opportunity and is bound to be an experience I will never forget, it just won’t be the same. Sure, being home leads to the agony of coordinating a decent Christmas card photo and making sure you don’t match outfits with your sister for midnight mass but these are the little things that make Christmas special. I find myself being very sentimental when I hear Christmas carols and sit by the makeshift tree they’ve put up for us here in Rome. It’s true when they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder because I never thought I would miss home this much. I miss listening to Josh Groban while decorating the tree and the sound of my dog growling at this annual disturbance to her territory. I miss driving around looking at the lights we would never aspire to imitate and the fact that you can walk around Phoenix in a light sweater in the middle of December and still get hot. I miss running around with my siblings to buy last minute gifts and hustling my family at card games.
I’ve just surpassed my third month abroad and the time has come for all my friends at school to head home to their families and start posting pictures of holiday togetherness whereas I sit here with no plans to go home until May. It’s odd when you know you’re in the midst of a time in your life that you’ll never have again but you still pine for home with your friends and family. It’s this time of year that calls for familiarity. Christmas is supposed to be filled with annoying traditions and watching the same movies for the 50th time while sipping eggnog and your dad fast asleep on the couch next to you. You’re grandpa is supposed to embarrass you with offensive jokes and you’re supposed to laugh while cringing on the inside. You're supposed to eat way too much at Christmas dinner and laugh at your uncles that have really embraced the holiday spirit(s).
I didn’t realize how much home mattered to me until I couldn’t be there. It’s weird to reach that point in life where you may not necessarily make it home for the holidays anymore. From this point on, I have the choice to make family the priority. It’s now that I realize how lucky I am to have something to go home to. Though I don’t necessarily want to live in my hometown as an adult, I feel incredibly lucky to have such good memories that make me want to be there for the holidays.
The Christmases of my childhood are gone. Before, I would wait eagerly for the sounds of Santa’s reindeer on our roof and squeal with excitement when the cookies we left for him had bites taken out of them: indisputable proof Santa had been there. I would rip open my presents and wait impatiently for my mother to take photos and wonder how Santa knew that I wanted this particular book that I just happened to see at the store with my parents a couple days ago. Now, Christmas is a quick succession of busy nothings and repeating those things we've done every year. We’re always running around for gifts and cards and food and clothes. I think it is the nostalgia of childhood Christmases that make the holidays as an adult important. Just because something is different doesn’t mean that it is any better or worse.
I won’t be home for Christmas and I admit that it makes me sad. Instead of the loving and warm familiarity of staying in my own room, I’ll be venturing around Europe hopping from hostels to Airbnbs and everything in between. I won’t be home for Christmas but the rest of my family will which makes the heartache slightly more acute. I won’t be home for Christmas but only in my dreams.
