So I bought my very first Christmas tree that belongs to just me. Since I moved out of my mom’s house, I haven’t had a proper Christmas tree. I had a dinky 24″ fiber optic one that I made my ex come with me to get before we lived together so there would be SOME holiday spirit in his apartment (remember that, Scrooge McDuck?). It stayed with me after we split and went up for my first Christmas all alone. Here you can see it atop my entertainment center, with the Venice Beach boardwalk just beyond the blinds.
But that tree really only made me sad anymore. Still, it didn’t feel right to get my own…like there’s something missing, or something I haven’t figured out yet…because I’m on my own. Then I thought, who knows how long it might be that way? Life is going on, whether I think it’s wierd or not. Christmas comes and goes. Am I going to miss something because it’s not what I imagined it would be? That’s ridiculous. So I bought the tree to spite the part of myself that thinks people who live alone don’t get to have their own tree. Fuck you, self-loathing Helena!
It was still a little sad to trim because starting your own traditions outside of your family home when you aren’t part of some other unit gives you kind of growing pains. Things are changing, I’m getting older. This isn’t my mom’s tree. It’s not the little tree I shared with someone who isn’t in my life anymore. This is my tree, just for me. It’s not much, but it’s a start.