Holiday Nostalgia

It’s not what we remember, it’s how we remember.

My favorite family tradition

Sometimes what pops up from our memory to surprise us as the holidays approach is not about our childhood, or our kids Christmas joy when they were little, or a random sentimental family memory. Sometimes it’s deeply personal and it stirs things up we thought were far behind us. This is one of those moments.

Of course it’s about a man. A man I loved deeply and foolishly, mostly unrequited, for years. I say mostly unrequited because while there were times, months even, that we would completely and deeply engage, for the most part he was distant, and sometimes I was too. But when we both were “In” it was the most complete experience I have ever felt.

Anyway, this man, let’s call him George, was allergic to Christmas. For good reason, but that’s not my story to tell. And every year - for years - he would commit to coming by my holiday decorated house on Christmas and every year he would call with one reason or another as to why he couldn’t or wouldn’t be coming. Eventually, while the invitation was always extended, I knew he never would show up; but it was a “thing” by then. Almost a ritual.

I had met George sometime in the late fall of my early 50’s. He was in his late 30’s and, to my mind, the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. His eyes were so blue and bright, that when looking at him outdoors under that California winter sky, it was as if the sky were mimicking his eyes. I couldn’t look away. He smiled broadly, called me beautiful, took my hand and flirted outrageously. He was SO much younger than I and completely irresistible.

We went away together that year between Christmas and New Years to Mendocino. It seemed like a great idea at the time tho we certainly weren’t (yet) intimate and hadn’t spent more than a few hours at a time together.

That 1st night at our hotel he laughed at the flannel pajamas I’d packed “you thought you’d be wearing these?”. In truth, I wasn’t presuming anything…

It was a wonderful week. Magical in many ways. Revealing, sweet, tender, hilarious and jarring all at once. When we got back to real life, he vanished.

We would run into each other regularly at morning yoga. Beyond hello, there was nothing. He would flirt with other women while looking right through me. I was determined to continue my practice with our wonderful Ashtanga teachers despite him. Weeks went by. One day he asked me if I was angry with him. “No, I replied. I’m just giving you exactly what you want from me: nothing”.

Within a few days he began calling me and so it went. This on again - off again pattern continued for 14+ years.

In that time we traveled to incredible places together: Big Sur on his motorcycle, Santa Cruz by accident, Bali (before “Eat, Pray, Love”), Pátzcuaro (the birthplace of Day of the Dead before it was a thing) and Mexico City are the stand outs. We were both open to anything, went anywhere, talked to everyone and ate everything.

It was complicated. It was delicious. It was impossible. And I loved him with all my heart.

In a flat footed attempt to change the pattern, I married another man (whom I didn’t love). That didn’t turn out so well or last very long. George and I passionately picked right back up where we left off.

Eventually I think we both knew deep down that our (equally painful) on & off pattern needed breaking. How we chose to do it was, in hindsight, cruel. I sold my house and eventually moved back to France and at the same time he met someone and moved in with her. I told him what I was doing, I found out from others what he was doing. It was awful.

Nearly 10 years have passed now. We’ve seen each other a couple of times post COVID when I was at my son’s in Pasadena. George literally dropped by on his way home from Mexico with Tuna he had caught the day before. “Where are you?” His text read. “Heard you’re in California”.

I sent him the address and an hour later the doorbell rang. George looked the same though he stank of fish, sweat and himself. He only stayed about 15 minutes. Seeing him didn’t shake me and the fish was delicious.

The holidays always remind me of George. Our 1st date, walking the twinkling streets of Carmel hand in hand, him pulling me into a darkened courtyard and that 1st, incredible kiss. Every kiss with George was earthshaking. The way he tasted. The way he smelled. The feeling of his strong arms holding me. God I loved that man: fit, fat, dressed up, naked, dirty, sad, laughing, cranky, happy, awake or asleep - it didn’t matter, I just loved him.

I think it’s safe to say George rocked my world in a profound way. I learned what unconditional love (beyond my kids) feels like. What it means to accept fully who someone is. What it means to truly understand that the best thing to do is walk away… for both of you.

A few years ago George sent me a text during the holidays to wish me Merry Christmas. He told me he liked the holidays now and he was sorry he hadn’t figured it out sooner. Me too. For all the reasons.

Merry Christmas George! I hope you are happy, loved and at peace.

Thank you for loving me.

I’ll love you forever.