Holiday (Time)Travel: An Itinerary

Part 1: A guided tour with the Ghost of Christmas Past

Welcome to the first leg of our Muppet Christmas Carol-inspired holiday (time) travel journey! In case you’re just tuning in, feel free to go back in time and orient yourself here.

Go ahead….we’ll wait….in fact, while you’re at it, this magic button👇🏻 will ensure you never miss another post:

If we were actually in the Muppet Christmas Carol right now, we would be flying through the night sky, over seas and trees, led by a small, ethereal (kind of creepy) ghost child. I guess one of the side benefits of only imagining this is that we can skip that part. Especially because, in that scenario, you would be Gonzo or Rizzo and neither of them faired very well in those treetops. I, however, will do my best to lower us all gently into each moment along the way.

While I don’t particularly identify with Scrooge, I was surprised during my research/ rewatch by how many of our defining moments paralleled each other in theme and season. In truth, I had the idea for this before I had flushed out the main points, so, as you can imagine, I was delighted.

From discovering one’s career calling to love to loss to embarking on new adventures, our holidays were marked in similarly significant ways and I found my journey led to its own series of personal insights and revelations.

Speaking of, it looks like we’re approaching our first stop. This is where I take my leave, and turn it over to second person. I hope you enjoy the ride.

You are small and shy, but for some reason you audition for the annual church Christmas play. The church ladies are delighted when you’re done and you feel seen. They tell you, conspiratorially, that you were the best audition they’d seen all day, but, sadly, they have to cast the big kids in the lead roles because they’ll be aging out of the program next year. Your chance will come, they assure you. 

All you hear is that you were really good at something. And you want to do more of that. So, this year you’re happy to be an angel, declaring the way toward a foretold promise, ushering in a destiny- for three wise men, but also for yourself. 

You didn’t fall in love at Christmas, but you are in love when Christmas comes around this year. It’s too soon to be splitting- or sharing- holidays, but too serious to be apart if you can help it. By some miracle, his parents are currently living in Ohio. He didn’t grow up there, and they’ll move shortly after, but this year, for this Christmas, they are only four hours away from your family. 

Four hours is not ‘close by’ unless, of course, you’re in love. Which you are. In which case, it might as well be just down the road. So he borrows his parents’ car, drives to your parents’ house to meet your family and spend the day. And then you drive together to his parents’ house where you will spend the next day. And then he will drive you back home before he drives back to Ohio again. 

You don’t know this yet, but distance (and driving) will largely define your relationship- the excess of it will divide you, the absence of it will suffocate you. You will spend the better part of two years traversing thousands of miles just like this- side by side, in a car, looking forward, leaving behind. 

But it’s still early and this is all new. Right now, you’re just a couple of love birds (turtle doves, if you’re feeling festive), casually leaving one home for another, seeing where the road takes you. 

You are eight months into your marriage and your future is bright, all big ideas and unbound possibilities. In fact, right now you’re both holding an idea, shared between your minds, but you’re the only two who can actually see it. You’re trying to sell others on it. You’re asking for an investment, but really you want their support, their validation, maybe even their permission. Either way, they’re not buying. Not yet.

The thing is, you don’t have time. You’ve found a building and walking through that door felt like the key. Much like your idea, it’s raw and rough. You can tell that even those who see the space, still can’t quite see the vision. But when you stepped inside, the whole picture filled in.

The area is hot, up-and-coming, and this opportunity won’t last forever. You have to choose. Do it now, before you’re ready, or never. It is one of those moments where, whatever you decide, will change everything. You stand in your childhood bedroom with your new husband and you decide to leap.  

You and Buckwheat are driving across the country. Well, technically, it’s just you driving. Buckwheat doesn’t drive. Because Buckwheat is a dog. You are going to meet your husband who is flying from Japan, where he’s working, to Denver, where you’ll celebrate Christmas with his family, before continuing on together to Indiana to see yours. But those are just logistics. 

The real thing here is that you are driving a 14 year old Land Rover Discovery a thousand miles and, despite being universally recognized as an adventure truck, reliability is not really what it’s known for.

And that is exactly why you’re doing this. Because you didn’t want to.

Because you don’t understand cars- you just want them to work and to not have to think about it (or worry about it). Because you know what the roads look like between here and there- mainly empty, barren, no one and nothing for hundreds of miles between gas stations (this will be your third time driving these roads, after all). 

And all you could think about was how your younger self was fearless. How she would have run (or driven) headlong toward an epic adventure like this. And you don’t like how far away you feel from that version of yourself.

So you check the coolant and top off the oil. You learn how to read engine codes. You feel proud and capable and powerful with every mile. And, while you are technically headed towards Denver, you are really making your way back to yourself.

You are waiting for a call that won’t come. You are thinking about all the signs that you were sure- you’re embarrassed to admit this- pointed to a Christmas miracle. A few weeks ago, you literally sat under a sign that said ‘Don’t give up the ship’ for heaven’s sake.  And, then, there was the customer (a preacher!) who pulled over, tires screeching, when he saw your husband walking down the street. Who ran over and grabbed his shoulders and said “I’ve been thinking about you guys. Something good is coming. Don’t give up.”

That must mean something, right? Aren’t holy people supposed to know something you don’t? This is the stuff Christmas movies are made of. 

But not real life, apparently. 

You will spend Christmas day making preparations to close the shop. No miracle for 6th Street. So much for holding out hope. So much for hard work paying off. So much for doing everything right. So much for being good as a way to prevent bad things from happening. So much for karma balancing the scales. If you’re honest, you were already questioning. This was your answer.

This is the room you don’t want to go into. You stand at the edges of this memory you don’t want to face. 

It’s been two months since your dad passed away. It was unexpected and you are still reeling. You are at home with your family, but you are disoriented. Maybe you’re still recovering from last month’s covid. Probably, you’re still in shock.

A giant knife sliced through the fabric of your reality. A fundamental sense of safety, a context for your existence as you knew it, has been ripped away. And you didn’t see it coming. What else is about to blindside you?    

You cut down a fresh Christmas tree. You decorate and bake together. You watch movies and write funny Christmas tags. These traditions feel like comfort and, at times, betrayal. Normal, but not. Or not normal for feeling normal. The human brain cannot comprehend the convoluted complexity of this. 

After Christmas you will drive back to LA. You cannot wait and you also cannot bear it. How can you return to a world that is otherwise unchanged? How can you leave the only other people who are holding this? It all feels impossible.

You keep thinking of that line in that Semisonic song- you can’t go home, but you can’t stay here. There is nowhere for you to be.

This kind of loss begins with the person, but it doesn’t end there.

The meaning of hope has shifted. So has the meaning of home. The belief that there is meaning to everything that happens, that there is a reason, is maybe the biggest fissure, but weirdly, the one you won’t mourn. Like pulling protective film off of glass. The way of things feels more clear.

It is no wonder you feel uprooted. Unsettled. Why you are desperate for tradition and certainty. Family and familiarity. Why you are hoarding comforts and resisting unknowns.

You are anxious to reclaim this holiday. You are trying to reenact it. I wonder, though, if the only thing to do is reinvent it.

P.S. Wherever this finds you, whatever stop you’re visiting this season, I am sending you lots of warmth and love from this place.

P.P.S. All this reminiscing had me doing what I always do when I’m trying to remember- sorting through old photos. While my instagram is already a bit of an archive, I’m going to be posting my way through Christmas past (and present) over on there this next week. It’s part the joy of remembering and part a sneaky way to trick myself into starting to organize my photos which is one of my outstanding (not yet started) 2022 goals. Hope to see you there!