The
semi-regular confession: I hate Christmas. I hate shopping.
I hate malls. I hate the
obligatory gifts, the obligatory gift requests, the required experience of
asking for a present in the most indirect fashion possible and the need to decode
an equally roundabout request directed at me. I hate asking someone for a present, even if I’ve wanted
that present for years, because it feels dangerously like mooching. I hate the lights, I hate the sounds, I
hate the madcap shopping sprints at every mall in the city. I hate the surrender to capitalism, to
marketing, to money. I hate the
show.
Now,
the confession’s flip side: I love Christmas. Not the lights and the malls, but the smaller, quieter
rituals of house and home. I love
the selecting and decorating the tree, and choosing gifts for friends and
family. I love the nutcrackers,
the stockings, the fire, the Advent calendars, the mugs of chocolate and spiced
flaming rum. I love the gatherings
with friends old and new, the nights with the family, the opening of the
Christmas gifts and visits with family.
Part of me even loves the Christmas service, with the hymns and carols
proclaiming the Good News. That’s my Christmas, and it has nothing to do
with shopping sprees or jingle bells, save the ones on Saint Nick’s sleigh.
I
hate the commercial part of Christmas for many reasons, one of which is that I
don’t need or want more things. As one of the fortunate 2%, I already
have more things than I can use—or,
indeed, fit into my room. Sure,
there are exceptions—a better coffee grinder would be nice, for instance—but I
haven’t found a shop selling a full social life, time for hobbies, and work
that consumes me. Shops don’t sell
lives; they sell life’s accessories, and the cheap ones at that. I have all (well, almost all) of the
cheap accessories that I want; it’s the expensive ones that I’m missing. These, however, do not cost money; they
cost time, energy, and attention.
More important, it’s never clear how to find them, or how to keep them
once found. When fishing in the
social world, you find everything from salmon to red herrings, but every bite
could be a shark.
On
the other hand, the rituals of fire, feasting, and gift-giving reaffirms human
connections and culture in the darkest time of the year. At their core, the Christmas rituals do
not only discuss the Gospel of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, but the Gospel of
the year’s rebirth. Before this
rebirth, the community hides from the rising dark; afterwards, it celebrates
the waxing light. By participating
in these rituals, individuals affirm membership in the community, and thus
connections with each other.
Finding
a fulfilling life is my primary interest in the coming year, and there’s no
store on earth that can sell it to me.
That’s precisely why it’s so difficult; it requires change and a
conscious effort to sell myself (and yes, that reference is entirely deliberate). It also requires the quiet, routine
rituals of daily life, which I have yet to create properly. Life isn’t for sale, no matter how
glitzy your house or how large your car; life exists in friendships, in
hobbies, in work. Those require
character, not money, and in this world money is the easier of the two.
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