Christmas is a complicated time for many people. This pressure of having the perfect Hallmark holiday with lots of gifts, food, decorations, invitations to parties, and family and friends has been forced upon us for decades, and social media has amplified that.
The result is that we often reach the season and feel overwhelmed, stressed out, inadequate, mournful, and lonely. I know I've felt every single one of those things.
Overwhelmed and stressed out when my sick mother decided she was hosting our family for Christmas, which meant I had to do all of her cleaning and decorating when I was knee-deep in a work project I couldn't afford to step away from. Inadequate in the past when people have given me expensive gifts and I couldn't afford to do the same. Mournful when I watched friends' and family members' celebrate the magic of the season with their children while not having any of my own. Lonely when, on the first Christmas after my mom died, only one single person in my life was kind enough to invite me to celebrate with them. (For what it's worth, it was my friend and our managing editor, Chris Queen. He's a good guy.)
But somewhere along the way, I began to realize that Christmas is really what you make it. It doesn't have to be any of those things. As a Christian, the birth of Jesus is, of course, the reason why we celebrate at all and always should be, but this isn't meant to be a theological essay. This is more about the culture of the holiday and how we navigate it.
A couple of years ago, I'd just returned home from a few weeks in Costa Rica, where life moves at a different pace. Where I move at a different pace. It's easy to force yourself to slow down and enjoy experiences and nature and human connections rather than consumerism there. Or, it is for me anyway. I went to a family wedding in Florida in late September. It turned into a long weekend event, and on the day before the ceremony, I went shopping with my cousin and two of my aunts.
For some reason, they wanted to go to Sam's Club, so we did. I remember walking in and near the front door there were rows and rows of these big plastic Christmas decorations, and I literally felt sick. What is the point of all of this, I suddenly wondered. It's not that anything at Sam's had changed. It's that I did.
It's not that there's anything wrong with these big, gaudy decorations. I firmly believe that everyone should do and buy what they want. If we were all exactly the same, life would be boring. I think for me, though, they just represented something I always sought to achieve but had given up on. That cultural vision of a "perfect Christmas" was no longer something I needed or even wanted.
The truth is that, aside from acknowledging the real reason for the day in my own private time, I haven't really celebrated Christmas since my mom died. My dad's not a big holiday person, and I'm not married and don't have children and who knows if I ever will. And I think I've reached an age where I'm not going to force myself to go sit through other people's parties and pretend I'm having fun when I'm really just sitting there feeling lonelier in a room full of people than I do when I'm alone. The fake trees, boxes of ornaments, and endless strings of tangled lights from my childhood sit in my basement untouched.
And I've come to learn that I'm okay with that. Coming to that realization — letting go of both the past and my expectations — is actually what helped me move on. I no longer recoil when I see Christmas lights in my neighborhood. I don't rush to change the radio if a Christmas song comes on, and I don't feel like I have to waste money on a million purposeless gifts for the people close to me.
As a matter of fact, yesterday, I took a break from writing and stepped outside and walked around my property. I've got several acres, much of it wooded, and I went looking for a Christmas tree. I knew I wasn't going to find something that resembled the traditional ones you find in stores or on tree farms, but I picked out a cute little pine tree that looks more like it was meant for Charlie Brown than Norman Rockwell.
My plan is to bring it in this weekend, stick it in an old crock that belonged to my grandmother and string some lights on it. I'm also thinking about making a wreath or two out of magnolia and cedar and other things from my yard. I visited a plantation in Charleston a few years ago, and they'd decorated with only items found on the property, and I absolutely loved that idea. For me, it's extra meaningful. This land has been in my family for over a century and was home to several generations before me. Thanks to the data centers moving into my area and my desire to get out of the Atlanta area, I'm not sure how much longer I'll be here myself. Creating a Christmas from it feels like one last tribute to the land that has given me so much throughout my lifetime.
If I don't get too far with my plans, that's okay, too. Life is busy. I've got articles about Venezuela to write, after all. I'll probably cook — or order something — for my dad and me, and we'll watch football. I'll chat with a few of my friends. But otherwise, it'll be like any other ordinary day. I may even find myself sitting here at my computer writing some articles. Who knows? I just know I'll keep it simple, and that doesn't bother me anymore.
Anyway, my point to all of this was to say that if Christmas makes you feel any of these things, I hope you'll give yourself some grace this year. Christmas doesn't look like a greeting card cover for everyone, and that's okay. Letting it evolve with your life is allowed. Creating your own new traditions, even if they don't look like the ones from your past, is allowed. Spending time with the people you want rather than those who are forced upon you is allowed. Spending the day alone is allowed. Ignoring all of it and going about your day like it's any other is allowed.
Just know you're not alone in that.
