I wonder when I started to feel annoyed by the appearance of Christmas decorations in stores instead of excited. It could be because it reminds me how fast the years are passing me by, and the thought of hurtling through life at a terrifying pace throws me into an existential abyss; it could be because of a niggling anxiety about gift giving; or, it could be because spending Christmas with my family comes with baggage that feels especially heavy this year.
Probably all of the above.
I swear, it’s not my goal to feel disenchanted by a holiday that’s supposed to represent celebration, generosity and togetherness. I made peace with the commercialism of Christmas a long time ago, and I strive to enjoy myself, despite the fact that the Santa we all know and love pretty much exists because of Coca Cola ads starting in the 1920s, and despite every store I walk into, starting Nov. 1, trying to shove candy canes and tinsel down my throat. I’ve always been a huge sentimental softy when it comes to gifts. Seriously, I’ve kept every scrap of paper, card and trinket I’ve ever been given — I even schlepped a box full of the stuff with me, when I moved across the world — and giving sentimental gifts to my friends and family, in turn, feels awesome. Despite this, the commercial pressure to attach monetary value to gifts makes me overthink and second-guess every single gift I make or buy to a frankly ridiculous extent. Seeing the smiles of the recipients of my gifts is usually worth the extra nerves I feel this time of year though.
When it comes to family, I have very few memories of celebrating Christmas as a kid (except one, when my dad delighted my little brothers and me by dressing up as Santa). Ever since I was 12, this holiday has been a two-household affair. I’m sure my divorced parents tried to keep it civil around my brothers and me at first, but as we grew older, every holiday included a fight or a venting session about something that the other parent had done. When my dad remarried, the disparity between the time I spent with my mom and my dad only grew wider over the holidays, and, needless to say, Christmases felt even weirder after we moved to the United States, while my mom stayed in South Africa. In true holiday spirit, we somehow always made it work. Even though it was hard sometimes, I still remember most Christmases fondly because it was time I got to spend with people I love.
This year is no different, and, in many ways, I feel it’s more important than ever to spend time with my family, even if they can be infuriating sometimes, because this Christmas is the first Christmas since my mom unexpectedly passed away a few months ago. I feel her absence more than ever, and it makes me want to say to hell with Christmas trees and gingerbread cookies and wrapped presents. I’m not going to listen to the angry and sad side of my brain though because this is also the year that I’ve felt most appreciative of my friends and family. For my sake and theirs, I’m going to allow myself to feel joy and partake in every corny tradition with a smile because I feel lucky to have them in my life.
My long-winded point is that I know not everyone feels excited at the prospect of the holiday season. Some even dread it. Sometimes families are absent, sometimes the thought of going home is stressful and sometimes money is tight. I don’t believe that any Christmas is perfect, and that’s okay. I have a love-hate relationship with this holiday, but what matters to me is what I’ve decided to make of it.
If I still can’t help but be a little apprehensive of this year’s festivities though, I want to assure you, Christmas: it’s not you; it’s me.