the spirit of christmas present
finding the christmas spirit amid the chaos of life
I write something of this nature every year, about my search for the Christmas spirit. There’s always something keeping me from finding those good tidings and joy everyone talks about and I search that out, actively try to pry the spirit loose from where it is hiding, because to go through December without that spirit is to doom myself to an extra month of misery. January, February, and March are desolate months of dreariness and unforgiving weather, of darkness and cold and despair. December is my last fling of true happiness until spring arrives, and every year I force that Christmas spirit on myself. I refuse to let a holiday season go by without feeling uplifted by it.
Christmas in our house was always a magical affair. My mother decorated the entire house, down to the bathroom. Garland festooned over every space, a large Christmas tree with hundreds of ornaments, the windows full of plastic hangings of reindeer and Santa and snowmen. As a kid, I didn’t have to look for the Christmas spirit; it came without cajoling, would just appear the day after Thanksgiving like magic. I’d take out a pad and pencil and start crafting my list. Soon after, the Sears Wishbook would arrive, and I’d spend days marking it up with my name next to everything I wanted from Santa.
It wasn’t just about the presents. It was more about the joy in the air as a steady stream of visitors would call upon my parents during the month of December, bringing liquor and cookies and fruit. Aunts and uncles, my dad’s coworkers and fellow volunteer firemen, they’d drop in unannounced and no one cared because it was delightful to have holiday visitors.
Christmas Eve we would gather at my aunt’s house, at least a dozen cousins running around while the adults prepared the fish and spaghetti. Santa would show up at about 8:00 and we’d sing Christmas carols and open presents and eat cake. I’d go home tired and happy, and jump into bed without a problem because I couldn’t wait to go to sleep so Christmas morning would get here. It was bliss.
As I got older, and after the myth of Santa was ruined by an older cousin, the Christmas spirit remained intact. I never had a hard time conjuring up the holiday spirit until later in life. 1996, newly separated, feeling lonely and despaired and trying to keep my kids from feeling too upset about Christmas in two houses. A few years when I didn’t have enough money to create a magical Christmas for my kids. Last year, my first Christmas alone after Todd left. But even in those years where the spirit didn’t grab me, I always tried. I put up a tree and decorated the house and listened to Christmas music. It just didn’t always work.
And now here I am in 2022, calling upon the holiday spirits to envelop me, make me feel excited and full of joy. I put my tree up Thanksgiving weekend. The stocking are hung, the lights are strung, there’s Hallmark Christmas movies on the tv, the Christmas music is filling the living room. I listen to a mix of holiday tunes, some old time classics, some covers of those classics, and some sad Christmas music courtesy of Phoebe Bridgers. I keep the sad songs on my list because I like to keep in touch with my emotions, and because I’m just a sad bastard at heart. Singing “but it’s Christmas and no one can fix it” as I put presents under the tree fills me with sorrow, but it’s a borrowed sorrow now. Maybe last year I sobbed while listening to it, but this year I am merely remembering that sadness of that Christmas alone.
I’m in a better place now and the spirit of the season comes readily for me in 2022. I know this month is my last fling with feeling good before the seasonal depression seeps in and I embrace it. I am feeling festive and joyful and enjoying putting the finishing touches on a few gifts.
There’s a lot going on in the world right now that is depressing and aggravating, there are things I am continually worried about, my daughter is moving 3,000 miles away in three weeks, but there’s something about driving around at night looking at the lights on the houses in the neighborhood that boosts my serotonin levels and makes me feel like - in the words of John Darnielle - I’m going to make it through this year if it kills me.
I didn’t really find the Christmas spirit this year as much as it found me. I’m glad it did. I’m glad I can listen to a sad Christmas song and still feel festive and good. I’ve had a bad year. I had a bad year in 2021 as well. 2020 wasn’t too great, either. But I am alive and sort of thriving and I’m going to dive into Christmas, try to bring back the good tidings and joy. I can’t replicate the magic of my youth; that is for the young, but I can make do with what I have. And what I have is enough.
Merry Christmas season. I hope the spirit finds you. If not, Phoebe will keep you company.