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I have struggled with Christmas since moving to San Diego in 1996. A tree in the living room, holiday tunes blaring in my car, Christmas classics looping on the television, company parties, festive concerts, and performances—no matter my efforts, as an east coast transplant, it never feels like Christmas to me here.
Growing up on the coast of Maine, Christmas brought white-washed skies, blanketed lawns, and biting winds coming in from the Atlantic. Christmas meant jingle bells rattling against the kitchen door and the warmth of home enveloping all of your senses as snow melted from your scarf. It tasted of Dad’s fish chowder on Christmas Eve and felt of new pajamas as my brother, sister, and I gathered around the record player to listen to “The Littlest Christmas Tree” by Red Skelton, before heading off to bed. It was Elvis Presley singing Blue Christmas as Mom cranked the volume while we tore into our stockings on Christmas morning.
Several years ago, I decided to stop flying home for the holidays because, despite the romance of a snow-filled Christmas, I am miserable in cold weather. Moreover, Christmastime travel is a hassle. It’s stressful, dangerous, and you can end up stranded in an overcrowded airport chewing on a heat-lamped pretzel dripping with caramel sauce. Shy of these unpredictable changes of plans, holiday visits are strained because everyone is so preoccupied with last-minute shopping, wrapping gifts, squeezing time to attend every party, and trying to recapture the magic of their childhood—or create the magic they never experienced.
Big business feeds into this emotional void. Advertisements flood the airwaves telling you how to show your love by purchasing their product. With just days until Christmas, a major department store retailer features commercials of stereotypically, ill-prepared men doing last-minute shopping; there is still time to be a hero. The same corporation offers a similar “last-minute shopper” commercial, but featuring an organized, put-together woman who took advantage of online shopping for store pick-up with minutes to spare. As a man, I am insulted and as a consumer, offended.
Truth be told, I’m not much of a consumer. I don’t buy into the hype at Christmas time and prefer enjoying the company of friends over drinks and dinner. I don’t exchange gifts so I don’t stress over trying to figure out how much I think someone is going to spend on me so I can match their love dollar for dollar. I don’t answer the question, “What do you want for Christmas?” I am disgusted when I hear someone say, “This is what you can get me for Christmas.” That self-absorbed statement is akin to someone asking for prayers for themselves. Prayers should be said for others; gifts should be offered, not requested.
Earlier this week, a friend expressed their frustration with spending so much time and money at the mall. Upon learning that I spent more on shipping to the east coast than I did on the dollar amount of the one gift I wanted to send home this year, he said he wished he was “getting off so cheap.” I suggested that Christmas spending was a choice, and he disagreed with that idea. I further suggested that it was a spending dictatorship which dampened his holiday buzz, and the conversation turned sour. Ho Ho Ho.
So, when asked by another friend, the following day, what Christmas meant to me, here is where my mind went: Christmas is complex. It is a holiday celebrating the birth of a selfless man who, at the core of his being, radiates true love, goodwill, acceptance, and inclusion—yet so many people during this holiday experience isolation, rejection, loneliness, and depression.
A simple, all-inclusive wish for a “Happy Holiday” is met with fury because “Christ has been taken out of Christmas.” Rather than getting hung up on semantics, can’t we appreciate the sentiment that one soul is reaching out to another and wishing them well, regardless of subscribed ideology? Can’t we witness the true teachings of Christ in action without debating how it should be said or done? Would Christ, Himself, embrace this divisive polarity that is now a tradition of his birth?
When it’s all said and done and the sun rises on Christmas morning, there is a feeling of peace, calm, renewal, love, and kindness. There is always a quiet stillness in the air that allows for pure breath and gentle reflection. Christmas is a time for loving those in your life and honoring the memory of those who have moved on.
It’s about hearing the pain in your mother’s voice and returning her phone call to help ease the loneliness on a cold, snowy afternoon in a quiet house she used to share with your father. It’s the memory of his fish chowder on Christmas Eve that instilled the value of tradition in your heart. It is about new traditions of a late-night, Christmas Eve dinner with an intimate circle of loved ones. An evening that flows seamlessly into the wee hours, pausing at midnight for hugs and kisses to celebrate the birth of Christ, welcome in Christmas Day, and honor time well spent together.
Christmas is about being vulnerable and allowing others to be vulnerable with you. It’s about awareness of hurt and sharing your blessings to minimize the suffering of others. On Christmas Day, life slows down and strangers are greeted on the streets with selfless compassion tantamount to that immediately following a natural disaster, when the human race champions together to show its true merit, if only for a fleeting moment.
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