The First Christmas That Does Not Feel Like Christmas

A city can be full of celebration and still feel empty when the table has one chair.

By Neil Solomon · 2 min read

Picture a couple named Arthur and Beth, in their first December in a new European home. The street is decorated and the shops are full. Still, nothing feels the way it did at home. The smells are different and the songs are in another language. Beth stands at the window and says, "It looks like Christmas, and it isn't."

I think the first holiday is a test that nobody mentions. It tends to come before friends do, and long before the place feels like yours.

Three versions of the same ache

France. One writer calls it a first Christmas that is not Christmas. The mood is wistful, not bitter. The old traditions are not there, and the new ones have not formed. There is time to remember, and memories are heavy when you are alone with them.

Italy. Another story is of being alone in Rome at Christmas. It is lonely, plainly said. A city can be full of celebration and still feel empty when the table has one chair. I do not think a beautiful setting cancels that.

Germany. A third describes crying through the holidays in the countryside. The person later found their way through loneliness, and I take comfort from that. The first year was the hardest, and then it eased.

How long does it last?

This is what interests me most. In these stories, the ache is strongest the first year and softens after. It does not always vanish. A second Christmas can still catch you. But by then there may be a neighbor who invites you, or a new habit that belongs to you.

Arthur might say, "Next year I will cook the dinner we always had." Beth would answer, "And this year, let's invite the woman downstairs."

That seems wise to me. A tradition can be carried across a border if you cook it in a new kitchen. A guest from your new street can make the table feel full.