A Christmas to call your own – 12/20/2023 – Zeca Camargo

It was one of those experiences that you think you never want to have in your life and, after it, you wish it would happen again until the end of your days. Allow me, today, in this space, to celebrate the little pain and the many glories of spending Christmas alone.

It was 2022 and I was in Paris — which, undoubtedly, mitigates any loneliness. But the fact is that I had planned this.

Coming from an intense year, with many joys and few but indigestible setbacks, I found the courage to announce to family and friends that I would be leaving for the French capital on December 23rd.

The reactions ranged from perplexity (“but you really love Christmas”) to my mother’s stubborn acceptance. “At least you’ll be here on my birthday”, said the Capricorn on the 22nd.

The low acceptance rate, however, did not divert my focus. I wanted to be with myself that Christmas. And for a personal search, never for the wear and tear of contact with loved ones.

Around the world, I’ve had wonderful Christmas celebrations, from a dinner in the middle of a Namibian savannah, with wild animals coming to drink in a small lagoon at my hotel (adventure already narrated here in this Folha), to a honeymoon in Sicily — Thinking about a romantic dinner on 12/24 in Palermo? Think better…

Improbably, ten years ago, I was making a delightful Secret Santa on an island in Belize, all gifts invented in that magical place. And a Christmas Eve in freezing London, with my brother who then lived there, has a special place in my heart.

But 12 months ago all I wanted was to be alone in the “happy night”. And that’s how I arrived in Paris with just one afternoon to organize a small private banquet.

Luckily for me, the food stores in the Marais, the neighborhood where I live, were open until around 6pm. There, completely on impulse, I bought food for an army. Which was, just remembering, just one man.

Cheeses, I had for a battalion. Wines? Endless bottles. A fan of a few sweets, I bought a chocolate tree from Alain Ducasse, macarons from Pierre Hermé and a “mont blanc” from the city’s hottest confectionery shop, Bontemps.

I decorated the table with a small Baccarat crystal tree – a small luxury, I confess – and tiny illuminated garlands, bought at Merci, probably imported from China. And I took dozens of selfies!

Looking back at these images today, I realize that perhaps I was trying to convey forced joy, as if I were trying to say: “look, I’m alone at Christmas, but I’m fine”. But I think it was more than that that was felt.

On a night that means so much to much of the world, being at peace with myself seemed like a greater gift. And when I realized this, the smile in the photos took on another meaning.

It was, above all, an expression of serenity, something that, I thought, I could achieve anywhere in the world. And remembering this today, I started traveling again.

I thought about how many “solo” Christmases I can still spend… Looking at the Atlas Mountains, in Morocco… At the volcanoes in Puerto Montt, Chile… For the monks of Luang Prabang, in Laos… For the sad Santa Clauses from the Christmas parade in Porto, Portugal.

But before I got too far, I remembered that this year I’m going to be right with my family, right here in São Paulo. And that feeling I had then didn’t depend at all on the place or who was with me.

And I belong to the world and everything good that I want, for me and for you, fits in my heart. How nice to finally discover that I can take my Christmas with me wherever I want.

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