Another Christmas Alone

Being alone and feeling lonely aren’t the same thing — and the holidays have a way of making the silence a little louder.

I’ve been thinking about the holidays a lot lately. I know it’s still October, but Christmas has a way of sneaking up on you — especially when you’re not quite sure what it’s going to look like this year.

If I’m being honest, it’s starting to look like I might be spending another one alone. I spent last Christmas by myself, and for someone like me, that’s a pretty hard thing to do.

I’m a romantic. Always have been, probably always will be. I love the little things: the Christmas lights, music playing in the background, cooking dinner together, staying up too late watching a movie you’ve both seen a hundred times.

I love making somebody feel special — surprising them, finding that perfect gift that has nothing to do with how much it cost and everything to do with how well you know them. Honestly, I think I enjoy giving gifts more than receiving them.

But more than anything, I love having someone to share those moments with. And when you don’t have that, Christmas feels a little different.

It’s Not Really About Being Alone

There’s a big difference between being alone and feeling lonely. I actually enjoy my own company sometimes — quiet mornings, working on music, the freedom to just sit and think. But something about the holidays makes the silence feel a little louder.

It’s not the big things you miss. It’s having somebody to say good morning to on Christmas Day. Making coffee for two instead of one. Laughing about something completely stupid while you decorate a tree. Somebody falling asleep on your shoulder halfway through a Christmas movie.

It’s knowing that when something beautiful happens, there’s somebody beside you to experience it, too.

Not the presents. Not the big dinner. Not even the traditions. Just having somebody there.

That’s what I missed most last year. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with admitting it.

Still a Hopeless Romantic

Life has a funny way of changing us. I’ve been through relationships that didn’t work out. I’ve made mistakes and had my heart broken — and I’ve broken a heart or two along the way, which is something I have to live with. I certainly haven’t always gotten love right.

But despite everything, I still believe in it. Holding hands walking down the street. Leaving a note for somebody to find when they wake up. Dancing in the kitchen when there’s no music playing. Being excited to see somebody walk through the door.

Maybe that makes me old-fashioned. I’m perfectly okay with that.

The older I get, the more I understand how rare it is to find somebody you genuinely connect with. Not just somebody to spend the holidays with — somebody to spend the boring Tuesdays with, too.

Because that’s where the real magic is, isn’t it?

The Strange Thing About This Year

This has been one of the most unexpected seasons of my life. Music has opened doors I never imagined. People from all over the world are listening to songs I’ve written, sending me messages, and sharing pieces of their lives with me. I’m incredibly grateful for every bit of it.

But it’s also taught me something: you can have thousands of people listening to your voice and still wish there was one person sitting next to you on the couch.

Success and loneliness aren’t mutually exclusive. You can be genuinely happy about one part of your life and quietly hurting over another. People see the good things happening and assume everything must be wonderful — but we’re all human, and we all have things we wish were different. Right now, one of mine is wishing I had somebody to share Christmas with.

Why Christmas Music Means So Much

I’ve been working on Christmas music lately, and it’s made me think about all of this even more. There are songs that make you dance around the living room, songs that take you back to being a kid, and songs that somehow make you miss someone you haven’t thought about in years. Christmas music can make you feel happy and sad at the exact same time.

That’s part of why A Light in the Window means so much to me. I love the thought of a light burning in a window — that somewhere there’s warmth, there’s love, there’s a place where somebody is waiting for you.

Maybe that’s what a lot of us are looking for. Not a perfect life or a fairytale relationship. Just a place where we belong. Someone who knows our faults and loves us anyway. Somebody who makes coming home feel like the best part of the day.

If This Christmas Is Another One Alone

Well, I guess I’ll figure that out when I get there. Maybe things will look different by December. Maybe they won’t. But I don’t want to spend so much time wishing things were different that I forget to appreciate what’s right in front of me — music I love making, people who’ve shown me incredible kindness, and opportunities I never expected. I’ve learned not to count anything out.

I also know I’m probably not the only one wondering what the holidays will look like this year. Maybe you’re going through a divorce. Maybe you’ve lost someone you love. Maybe your kids are grown and living somewhere else, or you’re in a new city far from home — or surrounded by people and still feeling completely alone.

There’s nothing embarrassing about wanting somebody to share your life with. There’s nothing weak about missing love. And there’s nothing wrong with admitting the holidays can be hard.

That’s one of the reasons I started our Facebook community, We Are Living Proof — so people would have somewhere to be honest about things like this. Not everybody has a picture-perfect family or somebody to wake up next to on Christmas morning. Sometimes just knowing other people understand makes things a little easier. If you need a little community, I’d love for you to join us.

Join We Are Living Proof

As for me, I’m still a romantic. I still believe in love, Christmas miracles, and all the little things that make life beautiful. Even if this turns out to be another Christmas alone, I don’t think I’ll ever stop believing that someday there might be somebody to share it all with.

Until then, I’ll keep making music, keep trying to be a better man, and keep appreciating the good things life puts in front of me.

And maybe I’ll leave a light in the window. Just in case.