I'm not being ironic. I really do love this time of year. I know it's an incredible luxury, that I love people and I feel that they love me back. And I know that a lot of people don't have that. There's postmodern isolation, there's bad timing, there's a growing inability to create real connections. And that's just here in the western world. There's also war, and extreme, deadly poverty, and just evil manifest.
I get all those things. And I know that amid all of that, I have these luxuries: the love, and the friendship, and the mindfulness of all that at this time of year.
Wow, this post has taken a turn I didn't expect. I was just driving home from Michael's, and I was musing about how, although I love this time of year, it brings so many of my deficits into stark relief. Like the fact that I'm terrible at stocking stuffers, and that I can't shop for ribbon without wondering who the f* I've become. I mean, I *think* I can't shop for ribbon without wondering who the f* I've become; I've only ever shopped for ribbon this once, so I don't really have the data to back that assertion up. Check back with me in another 34 years, when I will perhaps have shopped for ribbon again.
So I planned to come home and write a little self-deprecating story about how every year I disappoint Jeffrey with his stocking gifts because the first ones we did as a couple were the first ones I'd ever done. (And also because I'm staunchly anti-trinket.) Also I might have included in this story the fact that we have wildly divergent views on Santa Claus, and I'm not looking forward to having that argument in stage whispers while the children are, you know, nestled all snug in their beds and the like. And maybe I'd sneak in the fact that I think that Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer sends a terrible, terrible message about differences and borderline Stockholm syndrome.
Instead I am suddenly and unexpectedly thinking of people who have the worst type of poverty: loneliness. And I'm grateful for the argument about Santa Claus I may one day have with Jeffrey, and I'm thankful for the opportunity to figure out what the heck those stockings are for, and I'm thankful for the people who are so. fricking. tired. of me preaching about Rudolph.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.