The last thing I want to do on Christmas Eve is sit at a poker table. I have no interest in being with other people much like myself, mostly strangers who somehow find security, either gambling, sitting at a packed bar, or dancing a jammed nightclub. But the truth is -- there is far more loneliness in the crowded places. The worst kind of loneliness is that which comes when you are WITH other people.

 

It's Christmas Eve. I'm alone.

Alone in a city of a million.

After a few months of living in Las Vegas, the food has gotten to where it all tastes the same. Every coffee shop and buffet is the same. The people all start to look the same. Act the same. Dress the same. Once inside, the casinos are almost indistinguishable from each other. One poker game looks much like any other. All the football games and basketball games and hockey games by the hundreds -- they all run together in a ceaseless stream of mind-numbing interceptions, fumbles, free-throws, goals, blown-calls, bad coaching decisions, touchdowns, strike-outs, rebounds, slap shots, and tickets either in the ashtray or exchanged for cold hard cash at the window. Then, the next day it's the same all over again..

All the monotony, all the sameness -- it all comes to a crashing halt one day each year…….Christmas Eve.

There are no sporting events on this night. The race and sportsbooks are empty. Dark.

It's 7:00 pm and for every one of my previous 39 years on this planet, I have had some familiar place to go on this sacred night of reminiscence -- a family member to visit, a friend to comfort, or a wife to hold.

There are no meaningful relationships to treasure on this night.

Only loneliness.

It's the first time I've been confronted with the reality that for many people, the holidays are a time of deep depression. It's hard for some to imagine, but seeing all the joy and spirited celebration by others is an icy awakening. A mirror reflection of despair magnified by the happiness of those around us. I strive not to make it so. But Las Vegas is a city of diversions, and none of those diversions tempt me on this night.

The last thing I want to do on Christmas Eve is sit at a poker table. I have no interest in being with other people much like myself, mostly strangers who somehow find security, either gambling, sitting at a packed bar, or dancing a jammed nightclub. But the truth is -- there is far more loneliness in the crowded places. The worst kind of loneliness is that which comes when you are WITH other people.

It's one of the very few nights of my entire life when I can honestly say I had absolutely no plans, and no idea of what to do. It’s almost as though I've lost my senses. The oddity of this called for drastic measures. I did something unusual. Something that seems not to make sense in a city like Las Vegas, where there is so much excitement, where there are crowds and so many smiling faces.

I left it.

I got inside my car. First, I went to the drive-through at a place called "Fatburger." That's right, I ate a hamburger on Christmas Eve. Large fries. And, a root beer. I didn't even bother to drink a beer or glass of wine on this special night. It is one of the few days of the year when I will not drink. It is an unusual night for me. Most unusual.

The car has a full tank of gas. I drive. I drive north. I leave the city.

As I drive, the lights of the city grow dimmer behind me. There are no more streetlights. There are only headlights, my headlights, and no other cars. Christmas music plays on the radio. It's midnight. Midnight on Christmas Eve.

And, I'm alone with my thoughts.

I turn onto a single lane highway and head up through the pass. I am headed in the direction of Mount Charleston -- a place that is only an hour from the city by car but might as well be on the other side of the world. Straight up the mountain from the desert valley is a pine forest. There are snow-capped mountains here and skiing. Everything here is closed, there are no cars, and I continue to drive up the lonesome highway towards the mountain.

The elevation increases. First, 4,000 feet. Then, 5,000. Then, 6,000. A few more curves and I'm at 7,000 feet. Another five minutes uphill and I'm at 8,000 feet. Las Vegas has disappeared from my rear-view mirror. The lights have vanished. In the valley it was 42 degrees. On the mountain it is 7. I brought no coat with me, and I don’t care. I forge straight ahead knowing not where I am going nor knowing my purpose. There is not a single soul out on the road, except for one person who knows not where he's headed.

Me.

It's become a journey of discovery.

I take a cutoff road, which is a meandering, dangerous tiny highway across the large mountain. I look around. I see no lights. Snow is everywhere. The road is icy. I continue to drive ahead.

The journey for me has become something more deeply personal than arriving at an ultimate destination -- than of leaving point A for point B. It has become a tour of discovery.

I'm now more than five miles off the highway. In my mind I begin to realize if something happens to me out here, there's no one to find me. No one to knows where I am. There isn’t a living soul within miles of me on this dark road and yet for some odd reason -- I no longer feel loneliness. I begin to feel a sense of awakening. A moment of clarity.

Behind the mountain, the radio signal turns to static then fades away. I'm now trapped with silence, entombed inside a car with my own thoughts, worries, problems, and concerns. The road winds. Now, deep snow is everywhere around me. I reach a junction. I have no idea which way to turn. Left or right? Does it matter?

I turn left which takes me through a black forest covered in snow. I have not seen another car in half an hour. I feel a sense of empowerment. I feel alive. Excitement rushes over me.

I continue on the path before me, knowing not where it takes me nor when this journey of discovery will end. The answer to my curiosity comes suddenly and without warning when the road unexpectedly comes to a dead end. I'm at the foot of a huge mountain. It's pitch black outside.

I stop the car and get out.

Oblivious to the sub-freezing temperature outside, I step onto packed white snow warmed and comforted by my sense coming alive. I walk to the foot of a huge mountain. It all becomes clear where I have come. It's a ski resort. No person is here tonight, and there is not even a light. I stand and look around. I take a deep breath of cold fresh mountain air. I feel alive. I feel dizzy.

I look up into the sky towards the heavens. In front of my eyes are more stars than I have ever seen! There is an explosion of stars everywhere before my eyes. I'm standing a 8,700 feet and without lights on the horizon I can see million of miles deep into the universe. I see light that abandoned suns millions of years ago, captured now in my state of awareness that I am here, alive, and blessed for this moment.

This was the conclusion of my journey. I looked deep into the universe and saw galaxies that were not visible down below in the city full of so many distractions. Now, without them, all alone and confronted with the spinster of solitude, I now see more clearly than ever before. Above me and all around me, I see and feel the presence of God. And now I know the real meaning of Christmas.