Driving Nowhere For Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)

This year is different.

For the first time in twenty years, I am spending Christmas at home. Dad passed away in 2003 and with him went the Christmas ritual that had been our tradition since the day I was born. Since then I’ve been joining Chris Rea on the road. Aghade House. Ratheenwood. Riyadh. The Pink Sofa. Ardee. The Yellow Sofa. Ashmore’s. All with their own special place in my heart. But whilst I’ve had the best of Christmas Days, laced with fun, kindness, and the brandy of wholesome fun and wonderful memories that I’ll never forget, it’s nice to be back home.

I’ve always liked Christmas. At the end of every year, there comes a time when you need to take a step back from the world and take some time out to refresh, reboot, or whatever it is you want to call it. It’s as if the only way to keep going is to stop. Christmas is a time when the world stands relatively still for most of us for at least a week. Even the news appears to stop. I’m always amused by the people who tend to speed up as they move towards a break, like the reckless driver hurtling towards a dangerous corner without a thought for the safety of others who might be using the road. Slowing down is a fine art. It’s not for everyone. That’s why It’s important to begin the process a couple of weeks in advance, so that body and mind become physically and mentally attuned to stopping dead in their tracks.

Ironically doing nothing takes a lot of effort. I find that putting the tree up in late November helps to focus the mind. I like to get the shopping done as early as possible. Christmas cards posted. All of these things calm the potential ripples of anxiety. That way I slide into Christmas content, the couch reaching out to wrap me in its loving arms along with a good book, a cup of steaming hot coffee, or a good afternoon movie. As I write I look across at Samuel doing his thing, writing, reading, watching book tubers ramble through their favorite books of the year, and I breathe in an air of contentment. These microscopic moments of perfection are so important. Often they lead us back towards spirit, to how it’s supposed to be. It really is the little things that do the trick, a moment of silent contemplation opening the door to creative possibility. Or a turkey sandwich the day after and the day after that. Winter walks, with Samuel’s breath catching on the freezing cold, as we talk again about the top ten Disney films of all time. It’s that peaceful easy feeling that comes with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

That’s why it’s so good to be at home for a change.

Even going to bed at night is different. No worries. Not even a backdrop of discontent. No anxious thoughts rushing headlong into tomorrow even when we know deep down there’s often nothing there to fear. I’ve still to work out where the creeping anxiety comes from that so many people feel, especially on a Sunday evening, even though we know that ultimately everything will be okay. What is it that’s so lodged within us that it disturbs our very being week in and week out? That’s why Christmas or any other time we get to forget is so special. It allows us to take a step back from the precipice so that we can step forward again when the new year comes. There’s nothing holding us back during these down days, except hope itself.

Waking to another day full of possibility, unencumbered by the monotony of routine. Ultimately that’s what tires me, the same thing day in day out, week in week out. The spirit drowning in a sea of mind-dulling mediocrity. Endless routine has the potential to kill any creative sense of freedom, although for some it is the oxygen they live through. It is where they get their sense of meaning. I get and accept that. I’m not here to judge. We’re all different, until the end that is. For some down days are a nightmare, a time when definition retreats into itself and hibernates leaving them lost in themselves, to wonder who they are without the sweet scent of what it is they do for a living. To escape can leave one imprisoned by what’s absent.

I love to wander through the city on days like this. At times like this Dublin is quiet in its manner. It’s a little lost at present, but it is on days like this that it finds itself again. Thankfully, its sense of humor remains intact. It can still laugh at itself when it feels the need. Tea and a sandwich in Simon’s is always food for the soul, but even more so now when the space of the holidays allows thought to stand still. Samuel's eyes look back at me over a steaming cup of hot chocolate, which he still deems to be the best of its kind in Dublin, if not Ireland and the world. Christmas songs are everywhere. Christmas is everywhere, even in the days between itself and New Year. Slade. The Fairytale of New York. Bing and Bowie. Even Jonah Lewie stopped the cavalry.

Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, oh what fun it is to see The Arsenal win away. The festive football is another treat. Walking in a Bergkamp wonderland. It brings back wonderful memories of big games won with hardly a day off in between. This year Arsenal sits proudly on top of the league. It’s a nice bookend to the year. It probably won't last, but you never know. Hope springs eternal in the vacuum. Anything is possible, even the New Year resolutions might actually get done this time around. Anyway, they’re the same as last year. They always are and always will be. And if they don’t, the world will still spin on its axis until another year reaches its final destination.

2022 I tried to be good to you, but the usual suspects fucked it up. Power-hungry bureaucrats. War mongers. Greedy corporations bent on world domination. Bankers whipping the cream off the top. The European Central Bank putting up mortgage rates to stop inflation. The irony. Politicians who cannot see beyond themselves, the party, or the next election. They only think in a straight line. Logic lost under the dark canopy of power. More than ever we need people who can think outside the box. We always have. Santa Clause. Rudolph. Jesus. Musicians. Writers. Poets. Funky architects. Artists who splash the canvas with their lofty ambitions. People who invest in chaos to find a way through. Vagabonds. Word junkies. Dancers. Flunkies. The believers who believe something better can and will happen and are not afraid to say. Men in suits they are not. Something bigger than all this bullshit. But still, they are ridiculed for wanting something better. The dreamers. The wild ones. The lost and the lonely. They hold the key.

But I digress.

Dress down to dress up. Catch the timing of your own breath and breathe it in. Let go of everything outside and you’ll find what you need within. Christmas is a time for coming home. For letting go. For letting in. Christmas is a time for standing still. To remember those that are gone, but never far away. Dad. Mum. David. Hazel Baylor. George Falls. Terry Hall. And now Maxi Jazz. The faithless departed. And all the other ones that hold a special place in our hearts. Precious memories. I. miss them still. I always will. I still listen out for their love, wisdom, kindness, and humor in the quiet moments before sleep comes.

And so we have finally reached the eve of Christmas. Somehow I’ve avoided the drug tank. Nearly there now. Lappland’s winding down. All the preparation is done. Presents tucked under the tree. The turkey and ham are defrosting nicely, waiting for their time in the oven. A time when tomorrow never comes. The last desperate search for Brussels Sprouts is complete. The little jobs I missed. I’m going to miss Chris Rea driving home, it seems he’s been at it for weeks at this stage. Fairytale of New York. I’ll miss you too. Even at the home of the black stuff, they dream of a white Christmas taking a step back into the past. Like so mich that’s special It begins and ends with Christmas.

I can still feel the rhythm of routine leaving my body. It’s in the days in between that my mind turns to the possibility.

Of new things.

Of new people.

Of love and kindness.

Of dreams coming true.

After all these years, it’s good to be finally going home.