Hi! I’m Sasha and I’ve traveled full-time in an RV since 2018. You can sign up for 3-minute stories from an Anxious Traveler and have them land in your inbox every Monday.
If you’d like to see a snippet of what else I’ve written, check out how I view water as I travel across North America.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Even if I don’t want it to.
A perfect Christmas to me: a good book by Amy Tan or Margaret Atwood, a very clean (motor)home with nary a piece of laundry left to do, and a crisp, cold night. One single event. That’s it. Then I want the sunshine to flood back in, melt all the frost off, and for Springtime to blossom with daffodils and a purple crocus or two.
Christmas Eve has always been more magical than Christmas day, mostly from the childlike anticipation: that little bit of suspense in every moment before Christmas morning arrives. I crave that magical feeling even as an adult. That feeling of suspense and goodness: traveling brings that same feeling.
At the campground we’re at there is no lack of boxed holiday magic. Every campsite has been heavily decorated with variations on inflated Frosty the Snowman, the Christian manger scene, and even an inflated reindeer driving a car over grandma. And Oh! the power cords. They’re everywhere. (Cue Clark Griswald.) Last week while I slept, someone came and put up more Christmas decor at our campsite and had to crawl under the motorhome to plug the disco reindeer lights in. Um - that verges on creepy, not magical.
While on the road, I’m forced to create my own yuletide magic. The first year as a full-time traveler, I found myself running into the ocean in jeans and a torn sweater two days before Santa day. Was it warm? Not really. But it wasn’t raining and it wasn’t Oregon-cold. I celebrated the winter solstice under a cloudy sky on a beach in Texas: my first December in which I wore shorts and collected sand in my shoes. That Christmas night, we drove into a town for Chinese food, as my partner and I have done for a decade together. Softshell crab = best holiday dinner.
Last year, we high-tailed through four states over a week to celebrate Christmas in the Bay area with two of our oldest friends. We sat on rented plastic chairs, eating off chip-free rented plates, with a dozen others, all seeking a sense of home and celebration. Bottles of wine were passed around, along with five pounds of fresh pasta. No turkey or ham or mashed potatoes. An Italian feast with fresh parmesan in bowls between glasses and candles and laughter. An adult magical Christmas. Everything I wanted a Christmas dinner to be. 2019.
This year will be different. No sand in our shoes. No friends gathered around a table. Instead: some Zoom calls, a bottle of wine, homemade Chinese food. All the red and green lights you can imagine, next to blown up decorations of a dirty Rudolphin a campground.
I will make my own magic. I’ve hung our stockings with moderate care, but I’ll be filling them myself: no hopes that Saint Nick will soon be here. And those cookies I’d bake for Santa? He doesn’t need them. I’ll send them to my friends. During this season, we all need magic.
I might not even get mad if we get that snow we’re forecasted to have this afternoon. A little magic powdering for the holidays.
Thanks for traveling with me. Stay safe this holiday season,
Sasha
More down the rabbit hole:
Christmas has only recently been associated with red and green, largely due to a marketing campaign by none other than Coca-Cola. Read more about that here. (Poinsettas and trees helped out.)