This seems like a good year to take a polite pass on unrealistic expectations and gently let go of the idea of a perfect Christmas. Rich traditions of light and love, connectedness, and renewal remain, as they help me and the ones I love to feel whole. I found the energy to decorate inside, but not outside. I wrote longer than usual messages in cards with no urgency to get them out on time. I put up the pencil-shaped, pre-lit Christmas tree and our dog, Winnie, promised to leave it alone this year. You can’t ever reach perfection but you can live in the moment and I like that better, anyway.
All traditions have their origin story and some of the best are born out of necessity. Ten years ago our family spent our first and only Christmas away from home at a friend’s rental on Marco Island in Florida. We flew in late Christmas Eve, the condo cupboards were bare, and every restaurant for miles was closed for the holiday with one notable exception, The Golden Leaf in Naples. After a long and hungry drive on Christmas morning, we arrived for the meal we hoped would be better than the gas station convenience food we’d had the night before. We were peckish, low on protein, and we all missed our usual Christmas.
It was a scene right out of the movie, A Christmas Story, we sat among the non-celebraters and those who found themselves hungry and alone on a holiday. Table service was slow and someone in our group mentioned they hated Chinese food. But the meal was eventually served and we gobbled up our pecan chicken and beef and broccoli, all at once relieved, grateful, with each bite our sense of humor returning. Food never tasted so good. The trip was complicated, uncomfortable, and little seemed to go right. But our non-traditional Christmas dinner at The Golden Leaf stayed with us, so much so that we insist on duplicating it every year. It’s as if we want to remind ourselves we have the capacity to be slightly flexible. Maybe doing things differently can be okay.
It takes practice to grow resiliency muscle. This year we’ve all had to be especially sturdy and create workarounds to feel close in this time of isolation. Zoom meetings can be tedious so my family decided to spice things up with a remote white elephant gift exchange the weekend we’d planned to be all together. Competitors vied for ridiculous gifts that will become family heirlooms. It felt good to laugh at our silly selves. Later in the day, we were back on Zoom for a baking contest, each household had two hours to cobble together a favorite dessert, the designated bakers wore aprons and the tasters washed dishes or kept the baby busy. We made big messes in our kitchens, ate too much chocolate, chatted about little problems not usually mentioned on Zoom, shared new interests, and dug a little deeper into a conversation as time flew by, as it should with family. A new tradition born out of necessity? Time will tell.
I’m grateful my family has been able to hurdle the distance barrier but we still miss each other deeply. Nothing replaces the human touch. We’re all doing our best to bear up against this season of collective grief and keep a tight grip on equanimity. There’s a deep sense of longing and missingness in our country, so many people have died, lost jobs or homes or health or dreams. We’re separated when we need to be together as we head into what will likely be a tumultuous winter. That’s why I think we must be as gentle as possible with ourselves and others. Let’s calm the voices in our heads scolding us we’re not doing enough when we really are, we truly are. Keep traditions we hold dear, the ones that keep us steady and on our feet. Untether ourselves from obligation and consider what On Being host Krista Tippett names so beautifully, “let’s hold space for loss, learning, exhaustion, resilience, and waiting - for all that 2020 has carried.”
Copyright (2020) Suzanne Bayer. All Rights Reserved.