Same shoes, different feet?

I was out walking the pup this evening, meandering and looking at the lights on the houses, it being a beautiful night again. I've really taken to the winter chill here. It's 39, not too damp and not windy, and it feels wonderful to me.

Along my route, I admired quite a few light displays. I'm partial to blue lights, it seems. One house projected quite the subdued mood with a display of blue icicle lights.

I passed another house where a party was going on. People were dancing in the living room to 70s music. They looked like they were having fun.

A block or two away from that party, suddenly and unbidden came this mental image of myself walking the same street tomorrow night, wearing the same jacket and scarf, walking my little Toto dog alone in the dark. It will happen no matter what I am doing tomorrow.

It turns out I have no plans except those I've made with myself. They are not terrible plans: I'm going to cook myself a New York strip, whip up some cheese grits and chard and pour myself a glass of a Tyrus Evans claret. I'll kick back and watch a movie, I guess.

But with the flash-forward of me walking the dog tomorrow night, there was in the little core of my social being a saddness that gripped my chest. Loneliness: I hate that feeling.

Rather than reacting to it, I took a moment to reflect on its origin.

Every bit of our mainstream culture is oozing warm and fuzzy sentiments of family and being with loved ones on these, the favorite holidays for many of us. I've had my share of bad Christmases, but I still like all the business behind it. I like the parties and the drinking, the conviviality and the exchanging of gifts. I love to give gifts to people. It's actually one of my favorite things to do.

But this has been a particularly difficult holiday season for me because I have been so unanchored. I used to have holiday parties to go to. This year, I had none. And some of the friends with whom I had become accustomed to celebrating holidays and exchanging gifts have disappeared. With the divorce, I've apparently been extracted from their lives.

I've covered all this ground before, I know. But it's a picture for myself. To explain why I might feel lonely this time of year. And why it is completely acceptable to feel that way. I have been raging against it at times, refusing to go gently into it.

On my night's walk, I looked at the lighted houses, and found myself looking deep within a living room window or two. At one, the large Christmas tree in the window caught my eye. And then, further in, my gaze was drawn to the swag of lights and garland on the arched passage between a living room and dining room.

I briefly contemplated the assumptions I had about who lived there. And, then, I told myself a radically different story: This is the home of a recent widow who is trying to keep alive a tradition she had with her spouse.

I passed another house, observing the massive wreath on the door and the tree within. There were, again, some assumptions, and I decided to throw over the table: Husband and kids alone; mom in Iraq.

The message from myself to myself was pretty clear. I have no idea what people behind these doors experience.

As if to make a point, I walked past one home and could not avoid seeing, in the big unadorned bay window, a child of about 8 years old reaching up and smacking the crap out of a woman in her 20s. The woman held her hand to her chest to block the blow, and the child swung wildly again.

Well, I said to Brogan, that sucks, too.

Some of us find the holidays considerably more merry than others do. Some of us get more into the decorations and the baking, while others of us enjoy the drinking and convivality.

But as I've noticed from talking to different friends over the past few days, many people seem to have all sorts of aching wounds that get rubbed the wrong way this time of year. Celebrations of what *is* often have the unintended consequence of reminding us also of what *isn't.*

I have heard and seen immense pain (and some really cuttingly angry humor) come out of a few people this week. In some respects, I have felt tremendously touched to hear and witness it, because my friends have reminded me that we all have our own difficulties and heartaches.

In some respects, I'm back trying to answer my own question in that "peace accord" blog from yesterday. I wondered about what compassion looks like and what it means in these circumstances. I'm still not sure, but I know part of it: Take it for what it is, and take it gently.

And, now that SNL is starting, I'll take my leave to see if they replay one of my favorite Smigel animation pieces: "Christmastime for the Jews."