Ah, the holidays. An occasion to spend too much money, eat till we’ve gained the requisite 5-10 pounds, drink till we swear we never want to see another glass of wine again, and another opportunity for mothers everywhere to beat ourselves up for not being some nonexistent version of perfect.
In my imaginary life my daughters and I decorate cookies, come up with a meaningful volunteering activity, make homemade gifts, and sit blissfully under the Christmas tree sipping hot chocolate while my husband cheerfully decorates the exterior of our house in white lights. In reality, I frantically dump items in my Amazon cart, cringe at the amount of the cart, remove items, only to put them back in again the next night, hoping they’ll arrive in time for Christmas. The only cookies we eat are the ones other people have given us, and we can’t get it together to even hang up an outdoor wreath much less a display of lights. And then there are the gifts and the spending. The night before Christmas I find myself in a panic as I go through my purchases (most of which have remained in the Amazon packaging until now). While I should be sipping mulled wine and relaxing by the fire (again, in my imagination, as we don’t have a fireplace), I instead go through an emotionally exhausting exercise in self-doubt. Did I get my children presents that they’ll love? Did I get each child approximately the same amount? Have I given them too many gifts, unwittingly contributing to them developing into materialistic jerks? Did I forget anyone? The focus inevitably becomes the gift giving, when that wasn’t my intention at all. So much time, energy, preparation, money, and expectation goes into having the perfect holiday, that I find the actual day of the big event to be a letdown. I’m so preoccupied with trying to enjoy the day that I’m barely present for any of it. A little voice inside my head tends to narrate the occasion: See your daughters in their adorable matching dresses lapping up ice cream and pie with greedy abandon? Those two little girls will never be this young again. You cannot recapture this moment, so focus on it, enjoy it, appreciate it, goddamn it! Over Thanksgiving I was blessed to spend four lovely days with extended family, enjoying way too much food, watching our kids run around like sugared up maniacs, and beginning the madness of Christmas shopping. By Sunday evening, all I wanted to do was eat salad, drink tea, and lie on my couch looking at magazines. After several days of socializing, I craved time with my immediate family of four. As mundane as our Sunday evening was, it became special after several days of festivities. I already know that by the time January 1st rolls around, I’ll be relieved that the holidays are over for another year. I will be grateful to hold my little family close, to do such boring things as make dinner, go to the library, take a walk in the woods, try to hit a yoga class, read on the couch, and find a new show on Netflix. I will revel in the mundane. I will not necessarily think, This moment is perfect or I’m fully present and appreciating every second of it. However, in some bone-deep part of my soul, I’ll know that this right here is enough. This right here is all I really need. My gratitude may take shape through a background route, but I’m pretty sure I’ll still land at the destination I was seeking all along.
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Today was a hard day.
I am not particularly political. I am far less educated about history and politics than many of my family members and colleagues. However, when I woke up this morning and heard the news, I felt a deep sadness. Throughout the day I encountered others, kids and adults alike, who felt the same sense of disappointment, fear, and shock. I live in a place where many of the people share the same political and social views, a bubble perhaps, so many were stunned by last night’s events. And maybe we shouldn’t have been. Maybe this shock signifies the disconnect between left and right, red and blue. Today was a hard day. I watched colleagues and friends struggle with their own grief, all the while trying to remain professional and help our students and own children feel safe, regardless of political opinion, in a way that doesn’t denigrate, belittle, or fuel hatred. Today was a hard day. I listened to people profess fury, disgust, and fear. I watched people question the fundamental values of this country and the direction we are heading. Today was a hard day. However, I choose hope. I choose to believe that there is a way forward. I choose to believe that love and family are stronger than fear and hate. I choose to believe that this is not the end, but a stop in the road, a time for us to pause and think about how to move on from here, a necessary if unwanted chance for us to look at what divides and unites us. Many would argue that this is simplistic and naïve. It is. And yet I don’t see an alternative. Today was a hard day, but I believe tomorrow will be a little better. I choose to believe we can heal, we can learn, we can grow. I choose hope. |