'Tis the Season
The melancholy post I began last evening (in my head) seems strangely far away now. Not quite irrelevant, just slipping back away into a box where it will remain as little more than a analog record of things in the past, yellowing and heavy with dust.
Since I started that post I have gleefully wrapped the gifts I've procured thus far, watched the weight of snow still the branches on the pines, buried myself in (and eventually folded) several sets of laundry, and cooked much delicious food. I have cleaned (some of) our home, replanted the white poinsettia, discovered that we've got a bloom on one of the peace lilies, and revitalized sacred spaces with fresh flowers, fresh water.
And yet, I came here again to write the post out. In summary, I've begun enjoying the holiday season. I'm even feeling...festive. Not since those few years in holiday retail has Christmas music seemed like a nice thing...and I've done some very lovely holiday-esque things over the past weeks. It would seem then, looking back, that this is what I always wondered about. How this was done.
For years, I simply called this "suicide season" and while technically this phrase is still accurate in the greater picture, it no longer feels true for myself. That's not to say I don't want to hibernate through winter much of the time, because I do, but that is much, much different than the years during which I felt I simply could not make it through another round. As a child, my brother and I could barely sleep for our excitement- sneaking into each other's rooms to whisper our way through Christmas Eve. As a teenager, I drafted endless apologies and suicide notes on those sleepless nights, feeling desperate enough to allow my intentions towards life to wander, yet conscious of the fact that I could not, would not do that to my family. The days of celebration were full of stabbing pain in my chest as I sat and smiled an empty smile, sure I could crumble to ash.
Cheerful, it was not. Mostly, the holidays simply broke my heart. And over the years, it has healed, which is fortunate, because now I face the challenge of co-ordinating with two families. And because really, I think that's sort of what all the hoop-la (sp?) is about (speaking generally of course, many a sacred day fall within this whole "the holidays" time scheme)- getting through the cold and the dark. Making sure that the best of humanity is showing at a time when the world around us is growing darker and later IS the darkest, coldest, and there is much winter yet to come.
Since I started that post I have gleefully wrapped the gifts I've procured thus far, watched the weight of snow still the branches on the pines, buried myself in (and eventually folded) several sets of laundry, and cooked much delicious food. I have cleaned (some of) our home, replanted the white poinsettia, discovered that we've got a bloom on one of the peace lilies, and revitalized sacred spaces with fresh flowers, fresh water.
And yet, I came here again to write the post out. In summary, I've begun enjoying the holiday season. I'm even feeling...festive. Not since those few years in holiday retail has Christmas music seemed like a nice thing...and I've done some very lovely holiday-esque things over the past weeks. It would seem then, looking back, that this is what I always wondered about. How this was done.
For years, I simply called this "suicide season" and while technically this phrase is still accurate in the greater picture, it no longer feels true for myself. That's not to say I don't want to hibernate through winter much of the time, because I do, but that is much, much different than the years during which I felt I simply could not make it through another round. As a child, my brother and I could barely sleep for our excitement- sneaking into each other's rooms to whisper our way through Christmas Eve. As a teenager, I drafted endless apologies and suicide notes on those sleepless nights, feeling desperate enough to allow my intentions towards life to wander, yet conscious of the fact that I could not, would not do that to my family. The days of celebration were full of stabbing pain in my chest as I sat and smiled an empty smile, sure I could crumble to ash.
Cheerful, it was not. Mostly, the holidays simply broke my heart. And over the years, it has healed, which is fortunate, because now I face the challenge of co-ordinating with two families. And because really, I think that's sort of what all the hoop-la (sp?) is about (speaking generally of course, many a sacred day fall within this whole "the holidays" time scheme)- getting through the cold and the dark. Making sure that the best of humanity is showing at a time when the world around us is growing darker and later IS the darkest, coldest, and there is much winter yet to come.