The f***ing festive season

It’s easy to become swept away at this time of year. Swept away with enthusiasm — no matter how fleeting — to buy more, bake more, socialize more, eat and drink more; just general enthusiasm for more.

I am not immune to this and find myself, year after year, caught up in the frenetic frenzy of it all. Does this come from a sentimental nostalgia for how my memory has constructed the festive season of my childhood? Is it a desire to recreate what I recall as being the magic of my younger years?

Maybe, but if I am honest, there was a lot of decidedly non-magic involved in those long ago Christmas seasons. Along with the excitement of anticipation, the blissed out pleasure in lying on the couch all day completely absorbed in a new book, and the delight in food treats that appeared only once a year, there were inevitable letdowns. The disappointment when a much-hoped-for gift did not appear under the tree. The heartbreak of not being invited to the coolest skating party. The annual fight over the turkey drumstick. (Eventually, fed up, our father established a written rotation chart, prepared with the precision to be expected from a somewhat OCD math professor, to ensure fairness. I’m pretty sure the bickering continued nonetheless.)

Do I have a misguided hope each year that this is the time I will create a perfect occasion that will be remembered with happiness by all those who are part of it?

Maybe, but surely history should have told me by now that there is no such thing as a perfect holiday occasion.

Who knows? What I do know is that, year after year, by early November I have created my lists. One list of the baking I plan to undertake. One for the people to whom I plan to give gifts. Another for the gifts I want to make for those people. Yet another for the meal I will prepare for our family gathering. And yet one more of the people I want to see and the entertaining I want to do.

By late in the month, my freezer is usually bursting with cookies, and the linen closet is stacked with gift purchases. I have a bag full of empty toilet paper rolls, ready to be transformed into crackers. I have candles of every shape and size in sufficient quantity to keep us fully lit even if there is a lengthy power outage.

But not this year. I’ve made few preparations of any sort, and I’ve been a bit worried about the fact that I don’t seem to be worried about this.

Radical empathy

Maybe my calm in the face of this serious lack of preparation can be credited to a short piece by New York Times journalist Sam Sifton that I stumbled upon a few weeks ago. He wrote it as a pep talk for those preparing a large family dinner for American Thanksgiving, but it works just as well for any celebration:

“Here’s what to know: Every little thing is going to be all right. You’re going to serve the best meal that you can under the circumstances, and it’s going to be delicious and well received. You are not going to change anyone’s mind or behavior today, and that’s all right too . . . .Change is not what today is about.

“Today is about giving thanks. Today is about practising radical empathy. Today is about acceptance of things as they are, not as you wish them to be, Just do your best . . . Don’t forget to breathe. And I bet it’s a fantastic day.”

To be transparent with you, he also suggests that an alcoholic beverage or two might help smooth the path to radical empathy.

He’s right, of course. If we open ourselves up to the possibility, every little thing will be all right. If we come to the table in the right frame of mind, the celebratory meals we prepare or are invited to will be delicious. The silly party games will be fun. The gifts will be what they are and, if they are really bad, they can be passed on to someone else in a few days. If the going gets tough, we can grab a kindred spirit for a private chat on the front porch, settle down with a child or grandchild to play a game of Quirkle, pick up a willing cat or dog for a quiet cuddle or take a solo stroll around the block. (Of course, imbibing in a glass of wine or gin or sneaking outside for a quick toke are also options – remember, it’s all about radical empathy.)

It’s a holiday, after all, and, while we want things to run smoothly, it’s not the most important event of our lives or even of the year.  

I’m going to do my best to breathe deeply even if things go off the rails, to not obsess over the fact that I have received only one holiday card so far this year, and to enjoy whatever it is that comes my way.

Despite my lack of advance planning, we have our tree up and decorated and, as is the case every year, it is the most beautiful tree we have ever had. The freezer may not be bursting with cookies, but there are plenty to both satisfy our sweet tooth and share with friends. I snagged the last package of cracker poppers at Michael’s a couple of days ago, and as long as I can collect enough toilet paper rolls, there will be crackers filled with silly little items for our holiday dinner. We’ve booked the small theatre at our local independent movie cinema for the afternoon of our family gathering, where all of us aged nine to 75 will gather to munch on popcorn and watch We Bought A Zoo.

And, in an act of radical empathy towards myself, I’m taking a break from blog writing until 2024.

See you all back here in early January!