The holiday season has arrived, and every year it reminds me how strange it is that a few fairy lights, familiar songs or a trashy rom-com can pull us back into versions of ourselves we thought we had outgrown.

While the rest of Sydney eases into December, I find myself reflecting on what this season really means, beyond church, the decorations and the inevitable rom-com marathon. I am not able to put up a tree thanks to my cats, Walter and Frankie, who would turn it into their personal playground, yet that has never stopped me from creating my own kind of festive chaos, the sort that fills a small apartment with warmth and a sense of possibility. Well, I like to think so.

Before I learnt to celebrate the season on my own terms, I had a very different picture of what this time of year was supposed to look like. When I was a kid, Christmas was loud and chaotic with the extended family. It was everything I wanted then: presents, cookies and playmates. No expectations and no responsibilities.

Years later, there was a period when I was part of a relationship that came with a warm set of rituals. Putting up the tree together, Christmas Eve on the couch exchanging gifts after a hearty meal, drifting back home on Christmas night after seeing our families so we could continue our own little celebrations. It felt like belonging, like a rhythm invented just for the two of us. It felt perfect. It was ours.

Then life did what it does best. It shifted. Suddenly I was in Sydney, single again, trying to make sense of what had changed. Instead of continuing those traditions, I found myself wondering what went wrong and how I was going to brace for the seasonal interrogation about being single and not planning a wedding. Apparently, no matter my age, my relationship status remains the most compelling mystery in my family’s eyes. I know they want the best for me, yet sometimes it all becomes a bit overwhelming, as if they cannot see the life I have built because they are too focused on the one I do not have.

So I did something I never expected. I created my own traditions. Being an independent in Sydney meant learning to craft a Christmas that felt like mine. I had always imagined a lively dining table filled with family and children and laughter, the kind of chaotic joy you see in movies. But somewhere along my adulthood journey, I realised that my peace and my mental health mattered more than living a version of life that felt borrowed.

While I may not have the big family for Christmas, I do have my chosen family. Friends and cousins who show up, who bring warmth, who fill the silence with stories and support. They step in without being asked and create a space that feels just as real and just as meaningful as any family gathering I once imagined.

Being single during the holidays is still not the easiest thing. There are moments when old memories tap on the glass of the present. Yet the more seasons I survive and thrive, the more I realise that my life is not lacking. It is unfolding. Slowly, quietly, deliberately. Maybe this is what growing up is all about, accepting yourself and choosing to make your own wellbeing a priority. I may not have the picture-perfect Christmas I once imagined, but I have a life built with intention, friendships that feel like home, and two furballs who believe the entire apartment belongs to them. Life is far too short to carry the weight and expectations of others. Here’s to growing and becoming a better man than the one I was yesterday.

Here’s to Tinsel, Traditions, and Growing Up