A Cure for the Christmas Condition
The truth is that I never really understood the point of Christmas. At least not how it's celebrated now, anyway. The vapid well wishes purporting to be truth, the real deal, a grand get-to-know-your-fellow-man-oh-hallelujah-how-I-care-about you, but really serving only to increase the wisher's sense of their own innate goodness. Or sell something. Of course, I understand all the traditional complaints about commercialization, but that's not really the problem. The commercials are a symptom, not the condition. Feel-good advertisements and exhortations to show how much you care are fine -as long as those who follow their Christmassy commands understand their own motivation.
No, the Christmas condition, ultimately, is the conviction, in the very heart and soul of each consumed consumer, that Christmas is nothing more than the sum of its parts. That the ingredients they have been told create Christmas by every Hallmark movie and seasonal advertisement -gifts, decorations, cookies, feast, family, and fun -must all be absolutely, ideally in place. That it wouldn't be Christmas without the Santa Claus collection firmly situated on the living room shelves and the perfect gift for every person on your list. You make a list, and you check it twice -no, thrice. And only if the items read "nice" can you relax. This is the Christmas condition: that without the right itemized actions every year, no Christmas exists. This fundamental flaw of the season has created commercialism, and around and around the cycle goes. A carefully curated recipe produces the holiday.
In my day, once upon a time, people remembered the purpose of it all. In simpler times before established and accepted tradition, when candles were lit in windows for Mary and Joseph and children saw Saint Nicholas as a benevolent spirit bearing fruit instead of the means to an end filled with plastic and noise, it was easier to be mindful of the myriad ways one could show kindness and generosity. I will not call it the "reason for the season," because that phrase and the person to whom it refers are not immune to commercialism. They have been used for purposes other than selling toys -perhaps more benevolent purposes (in many, but not all, cases), but purposes nonetheless. Still, when I was a child, oh so long ago, we did not have the glitter and fanfare, the vapid and depthless joy, that now pervades the holiday. We were left with our quiet snow and our crackling hearths, our simple trees and glistening paper snowflakes. We did not get out the Christmas stockings because we wore them everyday. And when we were angry or anxious or worried, it was not because of the self-imposed unreasonable expectations of spoiled children or the burden of hauling decorations up from the garage or down from the attic. When there is a litany of ingredients for the proper Christmas, any Christmas that fails to check off an ingredient is now less than perfect.
Without so much involved in our Christmas, we were able to remember the spirit of the season. Physical gifts are not the only way to be generous and kind, and decorations do not a happy family make. Yes, the gaudy and extravagant is fun. But is it necessary? No.
So if you glean one thing from this little tale of mine, remember this: children may notice how beautiful the living room looks, but they will not notice every Santa. They will eat their sweets with gusto, but they will not remember who prepared them unless they have a hand -or two -in the preparation. They will have a few favorite presents, and the rest will be forgotten by the time the snow melts. But always, children will remember how those around them made them feel on this, the most holy day of childhood. A joke is better and more gentle than a sarcastic comment. Be present, be gracious, be kind and forgiving. A loving atmosphere is the greatest gift of all.