I saw something about how the Grinch only gets more relatable when you’re in your 30s. And this Christmas Day, I couldn’t have agreed more.
For most of my life, I’ve enthusiastically devoted the holiday season to being one of Santa’s little elves, spreading Christmas cheer, belting carols like it’s my job (lol…it is), and soaking up all the holiday cheesiness. I’ve loved it. I love the movies, the music, the events, the parties, the lights, the decorations, the togetherness. Basically everything except the capitalism. Why are we still buying gifts just to contribute to a society obsessed with consumption?? Like the Grinch, I’d rather skip the presents and focus on the parts of Christmas that actually matter: the joy, the connection, and the love that can’t be boxed or wrapped.
New York City especially helps with that; even in its grit, the city transforms into a magical snow globe this time of year. Every year, I watch the Rockettes, gaze in awe at the 5th Avenue lighting show, snap photos at the Rockefeller tree, work all the parties, have a divine Christmas dinner with my dad who visits once a year, skip through the decked-out parks, grab the free samples at the Christmas markets, and engage in any other pop-up surprise that NYC gifts during the holiday season. But for the past 14 years, my favorite way to celebrate has been as a professional Christmas caroler. There’s nothing like gifting music to strangers in a Victorian outfit; it’s pure, heartfelt, and brimming with joy.
But here’s my deepest, darkest secret: I always wake up on Christmas morning with a deep pain in my heart - and it’s because I f*cking HATE Christmas Day (step right up, Ms. Grinch!). It’s baffling, really, because I adore the entire lead-up to it - the songs, the lights, the events, the shared moments of cheer. The magic I pour into the season seems to evaporate overnight, leaving behind a hollow ache that’s hard to shake. And when Christmas morning arrives, I’m left wondering: Why does this day feel so heavy? It’s such a stark contrast to the joy I pour into the season beforehand - the lights, the carols, the connection - and yet, on this one day, it all seems to vanish, leaving behind an ache that’s hard to define. Maybe it’s the pressure - the weight of societal expectations that the season is fun, but that Christmas Day itself should be a day of perfect togetherness, warmth, and love. Or maybe it’s the stark reminder of what’s missing. Or the fact that I’m usually working on Christmas morning, which makes me wonder about the little love I have in my life. Either way, I’m filled with pain, and I just want the stupid f*cking day to end already.
Here’s the thing when you’re a nomad, far from family, or even someone who’s chosen distance from the people who should have loved you best: it’s hard to watch people celebrate Christmas. The world seems to glow with togetherness, and social media is a parade of engagements, elaborate, useless gifts that you know will break in two weeks, “perfect” families gathered around a warm fire, and declarations of being “surrounded by love.” And I know that not everything is as perfect as it seems. But meanwhile, I’m always over here, feeling like a loveless, broken ornament, trying to figure out how to fill the day…which normally just involves getting ridiculously high, watching Christmas movies, and ordering Chinese food that I eat on the floor in my apartment every year. It’s a blend of iconic independence and poignant solitude, a strange cocktail of emotions that feels pathetic and hard to swallow.
This year started the same. I woke up with a pit in my stomach, dreading the day ahead, very similar to how I feel every year. I REALLY missed New York. I felt cheated out of my normal Christmas traditions, and I wanted to be anywhere other than Japan. Then I felt exhausted. I’d already spent weeks pouring joy into the holiday season for others, even reminding folks at home about the joys of this time of year. And yet, on Christmas morning, I felt forgotten. As I worked for the remainder of the morning in a place that constantly devalues me, even on Christmas, the loneliness really crept in, whispering cruel lies about my worth. It told me that if no one was there to share the day with me, I didn’t matter.
But then something shifted as I was leaving work. I gave myself permission to cry: a full, messy, cathartic release. And in that moment, I realized that everything I’d been feeling was valid, but it didn’t have to define my day. One of the things I’ve been working on this year is recognizing that my world is a reflection of my thinking. If I stayed in that mindset of emptiness, the day would stay empty. But if I could find even a small spark of joy, maybe the day could change.
So, I started small. I focused on savoring tiny moments: the kid dressed as Santa, the security guard who wished me a Merry Christmas. I let those little sparks of joy linger longer than usual. And then things turned around.
I then found myself getting burgers with three of my greatest confidants here - friends I’ve made on my contract who I know I’ll keep. It was in that moment, surrounded by laughter and camaraderie, that I realized the day wasn’t doomed. Connection, even in its simplest form, has the power to shift everything. We biked through the streets of our neighborhood, singing carols loudly and unapologetically. I breathed in the crisp holiday air - a reminder that I’m alive. We shared a million cigarettes, stories, and laughter. Later, we curled up on a couch, watching Christmas movies and eating cookies - a pastime that once felt unsafe with family but now felt perfect. It was a day of togetherness, feasting, and love - exactly what Christmas is supposed to be.
So, what can we learn here? Well, I always say that life exists in oppositions. For every moment of sadness, there will be something equally as joyous on the other side. I woke up devastated, but by the end of the day, I was filled with gratitude. Sitting with my sadness didn’t make it worse; it made me appreciate the joy on the other side even more.
The second huge reason I was able to turn my day around is because I left work. What a concept! For those of us who work on Christmas, it sucks no matter what - even if we’re enjoying what we’re doing. We’d honestly rather be anywhere else; in the entertainment and hospitality industries, it’s easy to get discouraged looking at all the families and couples who you’ll serve on Christmas Day, thinking, damn, I really wish I was with someone who loved me right now. That’s why it’s especially important to be kind to those who are working on the holidays. Not all of us get a choice of working on Christmas. I always think about the moms I know working so hard to support a family that they can’t even see during the holiday season. And you have no idea what someone’s going through; even if someone gives you a show full of smiles, they may be secretly hurting, or missing someone dearly. So, it’s so important to show people that extra love - especially if they’re working to make your holiday the special one.
Next, I reminded myself that love isn’t transactional. I dedicate my holiday seasons to spreading joy because I want to, not because I expect anything in return. And that’s okay. Love is about presence, connection, and showing up, especially for yourself. And I do LOVE spreading the cheer of this season! But by allowing myself to feel what I needed to feel, I was able to pour the same love into myself that I so freely give to others. That’s a gift worth celebrating.
And finally, I was reminded that connection doesn’t have to fit a mold. It’s not about the perfect tree, the perfect plans, the perfect city, the perfect traditions, or even the perfect roster. It’s about finding meaning in the moments you have and the people you choose. It’s about being present and open to joy - even when it looks a little different than you imagined. And I'm so grateful for those who helped turn my day around. They really made it a wonderful Christmas.
So, if you’re spending the holidays alone, working, or just feeling a little sad, please know, my little angel: I see you. I am you. And I love you. This day doesn’t have to be perfect to matter. It's really just another day. You don’t need someone else to make you feel loved. It’s about the little things…and the big thing. You: the biggest, bestest thing in your life. You are light. You are love. And you can give it all to you, or you can share it with anyone who is willing to reciprocate it. And that - not “things” or toxic pressures of togetherness - is what Christmas is really about.
Merry Christmas, you hot b*tch.
Comments