It’s a planet with 7 billion people on it whose agenda is “it’s all about me.” Or, OK, maybe 6.9 billion people living with that myopic world view (many of whom would like to deny it), and maybe 100 million people who are saints or grandmothers or both.

So, it was with profound self-focus that the thought flitted through my mind, the other day, that this could be The Worst Christmas Ever. For me, of course. (Who else would I be talking about?)

Turns out, it won’t be. I already know that, even with December 25 still ahead of me.

What was the basis of my case for “worst”?

Mostly, my disconnect from what I had known in the past. This is three consecutive Christmasses out of the country for me. One in Hong Kong, two in Abu Dhabi. And “out of sight, out of mind” actually is more than a little bit true.

A lot of it is simple logistics. Start with something small, like Christmas cards. Maybe you don’t send them, when you’re overseas. Which means people who once sent you cards don’t know your address, and the ones they might have sent come back with a “return to sender; address unknown” on them. And someone sending a gift halfway around the world? That’s a lot of effort. Going to the Post Office, paying a batch of postage, wondering if it’s already too late for any gift to get Over There. Logistics.

Then you move to the idea of living in a country where December 25, 2010 is … Saturday. Not Christmas. Saturday. A day off for most people. Nothing special. Just another Saturday in winter.

The UAE is, I’m gonna guess, 80 percent Muslim. Maybe 10 percent Hindu (though most of the Indians here seem to be Muslims). That leaves the Filipinos and Europeans, and they are, what, maybe 10 percent of the population? Less? Not enough, anyway, to move the needle on “it’s a holiday!” for the rest of the country.

(Though I must say, that merchants at least seem to be picking up on a sense of “sales possibilities in December,” and fake Christmas trees have been popping up at the malls here. Along with reindeers and “Christmas” lights. I’m told this didn’t happen much, if at all, even five years ago. But businessmen will push the boundaries, if they can move some merchandise.)

This is officially a Muslim country, in a Muslim region, and they are not going to be aware much, if at all, of a Christian holiday. Just as Christians are clueless about either of the Eid holidays.

Thus, there is no sense of “Christmas in the air.” You don’t have a month or two of build-up. If you’re sunk in some project at work (like covering the Fifa Club World Cup), December just blows past, and suddenly it’s a few days before Christmas and you’ve done almost nothing about it. And if you’re here with just a spouse (or alone, even), you’re not going to be out doing Christmas shopping.

Then comes the holiday. No family within 8,000 miles. You make friends, a little, but not to the point of spending Christmas with them.

And then there’s the realities of daily journalism: Somebody works Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Last year, I worked both. This year, scheduled for the same thing. And your friends also work at the paper, and they might be putting in shifts, too.

So maybe it wasn’t headed for the “worst Christmas ever” but certainly for the “least noted Christmas ever.”

Then I did what I always try to do, which is attend a Christmas Eve candlelight service. Again, I went to the Anglican church, St. Andrew’s, which is about a 15-minute walk from the apartment. Other side of Airport Road and Saada Street.

It’s a very English place.  It’s an Anglican church. So of course.  A minister from England, more than a few Westerners, but also lots of Indians who presumably picked up the denomination during the time the British Empire ruled the subcontinent.

So, here we are, sitting in this Rainbow Coalition of Christians, and it’s a big crowd, and we move into the opening carol and it’s another random English carol; they have different ones; really (“Once in Royal David’s City”?); and they have different tunes for others, like “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” But I recognize some, yes. “Silent Night” and “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” and “O Come All Ye Faithful.” Same tunes we use in the States.

The minister, a new guy, did a nice job with the sermon. Told jokes about himself. (“I was such an ugly baby, the doctor slapped my face. But seriously, folks … I’ll be here all week” …)

And somewhere there, whether it was during the liturgy or one of the hymns, or sitting there among this knot of Christians in an overtly Muslim country … it dawned on me.

This is more like Christmas than usual.

You know how we talk about “the true meaning” of Christmas? And it’s not the presents or the shopping or the cards?

That was stripped away, here. Not by choice. It just happened. No Christmas sales, no advertising, no Christmas parties, very little Christmas chatter. Might not have noticed at all had not most of the Brits in the room somehow managed to go home for the holidays. (I worked till 10 p.m. on Christmas Eve.)

But here I was, in church, with a batch of familiar, comforting words and songs (“And they were sore afraid …”) and it struck me that, actually, this was The Best Christmas in many ways because it wasn’t about all the other stuff. It was church, and pondering religion, and thinking about family, and doesn’t that count as much as some gift they might not ever use, and a sense of comfort and a sense of community, even far away.

Not worrying about how much I spent or whether something was wrapped correctly, or making Christmas dinner or driving somewhere. Just sitting and thinking about Christmas pretty intensely for 70, 80 minutes … and it worked. Really well.

I was lucky, blessed, that it turned out the way it did.