I’m not a fan of the holidays, but this year is different

The holidays have never been fun for me. On the contrary: I fought through it. Literal. December became a season of what we called “discourse” in the old days of Twitter: a time to yell at people online just to feel something.

My mother is Jewish and my father grew up Catholic, but neither of them were particularly religious by the time they adopted me. We didn’t have a Christmas tree or menorah, and the gift giving was pretty subdued. Sometimes we did some Kwanzaa-esque celebrations, but it was all pretty tame.

The holidays were not traumatic or sad in our family; they just weren’t that important. As I grew older, I discovered that modern vacation culture, with its hyper-commercial focus, leaves very little room for anything other than visible happiness. That can be cruel if you are single, far from family, or if you are grieving someone who is no longer there.

For most of my adult life, the period between Thanksgiving and January was something to endure, not enjoy. It was a seasonal exercise in survival punctuated by Twitter battles.

The subject didn’t really matter; the motivation was always the same. I was lonely. I was tired. I was bored. And arguing was easier than admitting that I felt untethered this time of year, while everyone else seemed firmly entrenched in family, plans, and belonging.

Fighting to fill the void

Not knowing where I belong has been a theme my entire life. This feeling has defined the holidays for me for years.

Other people disappeared into their December lives of travel and tradition, and I was left on Twitter – when it was still kind of fun, before the Nazis took over – convincing myself that jumping into the discourse of the day and covering bad takes from people who were loud and wrong meant I wasn’t alone.

Sometimes the arguments were about real issues: racism, abortion rights, the slow moral decline of this country. Other times they were about nothing at all, like Winchester’s brother Supernatural is the best. (The answer is Dean, of course.).

Twitter gave me a sense of purpose during a part of the year when I didn’t have much of it. It provided instant community, instant engagement, and a way to express my boredom through digital fist bumps with other people who were probably just as bored. I was posting, people were commenting, and for a few hours I felt like I had to do something.

Maybe that was true at times. But mostly I just avoided the silence of my empty house.

I don’t think this is unusual, by the way. I think many people use the Internet this way during the holidays, not because they are addicted to discourse, but because it can be present.

It fills the hours when other people are busy with someone else. It gives shape – even purpose – to days that might otherwise be long, uneventful, and unclaimed. And sometimes that kind of involvement is community. Online spaces can be real, supportive and meaningful.

But for me, it was mostly a way to avoid noticing how alone I felt at a time of year that is meant very loudly to remind you of what you should have.

An online connection became real

But this December feels different – ​​not because the holidays themselves have changed, but because my life has.

For the first time, I am going through the holidays with a partner. And it turns out that having someone to be with, someone to talk to, to sit with, to share the silence with, and to be miserable with sometimes, changes the shape of December in ways I couldn’t fully appreciate until it happened to me.

That shift didn’t come from leaving the Internet or logging off for good. It came from an unexpected connection that started there.

During Christmas week of 2023, I got into a particularly ugly online argument with some aggressively stupid people. It was one of the few times I really let an internet fight get to me, to the point where I couldn’t sit in my empty house and let it go.

So I messaged a woman I was in love with; someone who seemed like she would understand without much explanation. Someone who understood both the argument and the exhaustion underneath.

Portia Burch was someone I had noticed on Twitter and TikTok, where she had amassed almost a quarter of a million followers. One of the first things I noticed is how beautiful she is. (It’s hard not to.)

But I also noticed that Portia has a real grace about her, especially when she teaches her followers how to reassess their relationships with whiteness and anti-blackness. I’ve seen her change the way white women think about themselves and the world, and then teach other white women to rethink those relationships. It’s remarkable.

This was someone I knew would understand the moment. I was irritated, excited, full of energy and couldn’t say anything productive. So I slid into her DMs.

That conversation gave me restless, buzzing energy to go somewhere else. Here was a person who was just as politically minded as I was, who faced the same racism and microaggressions as I did, and who understood what I was talking about without having to defend myself or explain why the racist thing someone said to me was actually racist.

I stopped focusing much of my energy on fighting online and focused more on her – developing our budding connection.

And as our relationship deepened, the urge to be online all the time—to argue for the sake of arguing—began to fade. I went to a friend’s 50th birthday party in Chicago in February 2023 and met Portia, who had recently moved to Chicago, for drinks. And that led to months of texting and watching TV shows together. (We have built a bond vampire diaries, and I proposed to her Doctor Who.)

The point is, when I wasn’t lonely, I didn’t need the internet in the same way. The need to be right, loud, or constantly present just wasn’t there.

Happy holidays, even as the world is on fire

Two years later, Portia lives with me in Colorado and we celebrate our first holidays as life partners. Together we put up our tree. We have spent many nights by the glowing light Doctor Who. We bought matching onesies and took cheesy pictures. We hung stockings on the mantle for our four dogs. We build traditions that we hope will last a lifetime.

That’s why this December will be different.

Not because I like the winter season more. It still seems forced and hyper-commercial. But the holidays no longer feel like something I have to get through by force. For the first time in a long time, December isn’t an emotional obstacle course. It feels manageable. Good even. Which is remarkable to me.

To be clear, the world is still a mess. This country is still a mess. The Supreme Court continues to deconstruct democracy and human rights. The social media takes are still bad, even worse. There is no shortage of people who like to argue on the Internet.

I just don’t feel obligated to join them.