I know I can't be the only one who feels like the holidays are a big production of trying to jam my painfully round self into the square-shaped expectations of what celebrating Christmas should be.

It's never felt genuine. I'm not Grinch-y; it's just never mattered much to me, and pretending to be having a good time is soul sucking.

Last year, I spent a tedious amount of time doing things I did not want to do. That is an understatement to say the least. How did I spend most of November and December? Caroling, cookie baking, making merry? Not if you consider time spent in court facing your worst fears. Nothing holly, nothing jolly. My stocking was filled with a heaping helping of PTSD.

I knew that I had to make some changes and create a new tradition for myself — and that meant I wanted to spend Christmas alone in New York City. It's a place I'm comfortable, stimulated and completely anonymous.

There were quite a few raised eyebrows when I told people of my plans. I realize that you are expected to gather up with family and friends and partake in certain rituals, and the idea of roaming the streets on Christmas Day alone, drinking a coffee outside the Dakota Building and then going to a Holocaust movie is not everyone's idea of 'Tis the season. But it fed my soul in a way that no Secret Santa jive would ever come close to doing.

You say "Christopher," I say, WALKING. That is what I do when in the Big Apple. I have my routine spots I like to hit up: I always walk past the apartment building I lived in and look up at the window where my younger self looked out at a very uncertain time in my life. Then the best part … I walk away.

Knowing there is nowhere I have to be and nothing I have to do is the most liberating feeling imaginable, and I'm not the type to find that solace on some faraway beach. Nothing is more nourishing than eating a chopped salad bought at the corner deli and watching a marathon of Long Island Medium in my hotel room on Christmas Eve. I think what I like so much is the fact that you are completely aware of a huge city's occupants all participating in things you have no interest in, and nobody expects you to engage. There is no judgment; just comfort in knowing what is not for me.

I've got my books, capable pet sitters, an open window to smoke by and a beautifully dirty view. I have interesting faces to look at in passing; I can imagine their whole life story if I get a good enough glimpse. I talk to strangers and they stay with me in a way that I hold onto.

I have a certainty that I will do this for the rest of my life.

To be alone with everybody is the best gift I've ever given myself.