TIS THE SEASON

Aah, The Holidays!

What a splendid time of the year.

Bah!

And, I don’t need to live in a Christmas Carol to add—Humbug!

The Grinch’s heart didn’t grow three sizes that day. It was merely an illusion. He didn’t attend the feasting of the beasts. Instead, he started exercising by running up and down the mountain, dropped some weight, and, boom, his heart was healthy and strong, only appearing larger due to his fit physique. Makes total sense.

I know. I know. There’s a whole bunch of people that are thrilled for the holiday occasions rapidly approaching. Shooting whiskey at a bar with friends they haven’t seen in a while. Standing around the kitchen counter gossiping about Sandy and her weird cat. Eating great-grandma’s jell-o mold filled with peas and radishes. And let’s not forget the cute snowball fight halted by the tree lighting and sneaking kisses under the mistle toe. 

But me, I miss the old days. The years when I was young and innocent (yes, I was innocent…once). We used to spend every Christmas eve at Gramma’s house. And while my cousins and I ran around doing whatever silly things kids do, I’m sure our parents were lit and after a few hours, drove their drunk and our tired asses home without seatbelts. Good times. But those good times are long gone.

They say as we grow older and start families, we should create new traditions. Is it just me? Doesn’t new traditions sound contradictory to the term tradition? Asking for a friend.

Eventually, my parents did just that. Grampa died and Gramma moved to an apartment building, leaving Mom to take care of the festivities on the Eve. Around the same time of year and the other side of the family tree, Grandma died and only Grampa and Aunt came to the house to visit us. Soon, my brothers got married, one moving away. My cousins began their own lives and the big family celebration turned to just a few of us.

And so, the number of participants dwindle. Beloved family members drop like a dried rose pedal that lost its fragrance, and everyone has an opinion or an agenda. The stores are full of angry present buyers pushing and shoving their way to grab the hottest gift.

It feels like no one seems to remember the reason for the season. And I’m not talking about an almighty birthday. It’s deeper than that. You see, no matter what religion or culture you declare or decree, the similarities of December parallel each other. Each major religion and its various factions observe the dark winter as an enlightening experience in one way or another.

Whether you keep your candles burning for eight nights, celebrate a birthday in the beginning of December or the end of it, the concept is, acknowledgement of THE something bigger than you, something wiser than you, something far more celestial than your imagination can even fathom.

So, when you threaten a lack of participation for the festivities or refuse to cook the goose for Cousin Delilah, just remember, we’re all humans trying to figure out our place in the world. And if that place is at home, in the kitchen, or praying to the God you call yours, December ultimately is a reflection of the self, finding our internal peace, connecting with the divine, and hopefully, sharing the love of our reawakened spirit with all those we encounter.