The Trouble with Christmas
I have trouble with Christmas. There. I’ve spoken what’s true for me, knowing that it’s not at all culturally fashionable to have trouble with Christmas. It’s a little like saying you don’t like puppies or chocolate, both of which, incidentally, I do like. But there it is.
In the first place, I don’t have very good memories of childhood Christmases. Often, it was a more-than-usually tempestuous time in an already-stormy life. And with childhood innocence and naivete, I always thought this Christmas would be better. Until it wasn’t.
Fast-forward to adulthood. The Jesus story simply isn’t my story in the same way it is for Christians. Just as Muhammad’s story isn’t my story in the same way it is for Muslims. And I can’t get into the cultural excesses of the season. It feels like the whole culture is having a party and I wasn’t invited. The profit-driven commercialization of it all saddens me. That stores have Christmas decorations and merchandise out before Halloween strikes me as ludicrous.
In the face of all that, I’d figured out what worked for me—minimalism, focusing on Solstice, the interplay of darkness and light, growth resting, a few carefully-selected Christmas concerts, and the quiet of land blanketed by fresh snowfall. Spending Christmas with my daughter and her family.
Then, I met and married Tom. My husband comes from a big family and a long tradition of over-the-top Christmas decorating and activity. As we blended our traditions, we have maintained that to a significant extent. To my minimalist eyes