This is the 3rd year in a row that I’ve bought a live pine tree all for myself as an adult living alone for the Christmas season. Nothing crazy; about 5 feet and slender, to fit in the little space between my TV and desk. The first year I tried this out, it was on a random whim under the premise that it was for my cats. You know, so they could experience an indoor tree in person. But who was I kidding? Once I set it up, I remembered my own delight at having one.

If you know me, really know me, you know I love Christmas. My favorite holiday of the year; my favorite season (just Christmas, not winter). My birthday shares the same month (Sag season, let’s go!) but I happily let Christmas overtake and surpass my celebration of birth. Since childhood, my joy for the season has never diminished. I love exchanging gifts with my people, and have never felt the gift hunt to be any kind of hassle. Rather, for me it’s like a quest, physically scouring deal-stomping-grounds for gifts in the wild, or combing through Internet searches for the best sales and hidden gems. And then, thrilling in the final discoveries like rare items plucked from a Zelda treasure chest after traversing the dungeon or completing the random side-quests to reach them.

I mail gifts to friends I haven’t seen in years. I’ve surprised co-workers with trinkets in the holiday spirit. Ever since I got my first really stable job as an adult, I’ve made it a point to make a contribution to a toy drive each year, because I want to help a kid have something to unwrap for Christmas. I love to share holiday spirit with someone else who adores Christmas as much as I do. One of my fonder holiday memories was the opportunity to volunteer to wrap gifts for a youth mentor program amidst Christmas music and a digital fireplace (sadly, they’ve never offered the chance again since). It never gets old immersing myself in the colorful lights of themed bars, the festive decor of restaurants, or the spirited bustle of urban holiday markets. I’m delighted to frolic at every Christmas pop-up activity, sipping hot chocolate and candy-cane drinks surrounded by tinsel and humming Carol of the Bells.

All this Fa-la-la-la-laaa spewing is going somewhere. For the last 25 years or so, my family has had a tradition of gathering at the “dedicated Christmas celebration location.” Me, my mom and sister, aunt and cousins, and godmother convene together with all of our gifts where the “proper” large and full tree is stationed. Then we position the gift haul around Main Tree, looking straight out of a Home Alone movie snapshot. Now, because of this long-time tradition, it never occurred to me to have my own tree as well, because it wouldn’t be the Christmas Day centerpiece to celebrate with. But this barely-my-height-gotta-keep-you-alive-for-a-month giant plant gave me pleasant tingles, just by being there. This tiny, joyful thing.

So this year, I went straight to where I knew the closest tree seller in my neighborhood was on my lunch break, soaking in some much-needed vitamin D happiness daylight in these SAD season times. And I strolled back to my apartment giddily carrying this $60 tree in my arms. “$60 for that???,” my mom would likely say. Yes. For this accessory that bolsters my merriment for the month. I’ve yet to purchase a single decoration myself thus far, because over the years I’ve amassed a hodgepodge of adornments, some left behind, some saved from being thrown away by others, and many gifted, from Super Mario lights to custom ornaments to old candy canes and stockings. I saved them all as they came my way, never foretelling how they’d take the stage now. And here in my home, there is no one to criticize my meaningful mix & match, and tell me that it’s too many colors and that it doesn’t look like a tree out of a Home and Gardens Christmas-edition catalog. I can just enjoy it as is without it needing to be perfect or prizeworthy.

I stuck this year’s tree into the overpriced stand I’d bought last year ($32 freaking dollars from a local hardware store, so clearly I gotta keep getting more trees to get my money’s worth out of it), and cheerfully regarded the Christmas representation in my own space. Then I proceeded to sit quietly on the floor, playing lo-fi music on YouTube and fondly wrapping the collected loot I’d thus far hunted. Gently folding and creasing and pressing little trinkets into pretty, presentable, packages. For me, it’s therapeutic. It’s enrichment.

It’s a reminder that these tiny, joyful things fill me up so much. And I should continue to let them.

~Tael