Bright Shiny Expectations with a Little Existential Crisis Thrown In
Holiday fun or holiday dread....
The holidays are full of happy, bright, festive parties, people, ideas, and food. We run from each other's houses performing the yearly ritual of celebrating starting with Halloween going to New Year. The rush of gift buying, gift-giving, food preparing, and food eating is a yearly event that some cherish, and others want to hide from.
If you're the one who cherishes all the festivity, then this is not the essay for you. I am not one of those that cherish the high expectations of the holidays they are loud, energy-packed, overwhelming, and the expectations are overwhelming. I don't understand and I don't think I ever have. Being with people that do has never really helped me understand or cope with the loud energy of the holidays.
I love autumn and the long shadows of the earth shifting, the slow release of summer to the slumber of cooler nights, the changing of leaves, and the general essence in the air of the earth changing. Smoke on the air from burning leaves and fireplaces, the packing away of summer fun and activities, putting summer activities and clothing away, and shifting our gears to nesting and rest.
I had not thought of autumn as getting ready for rest and slumber till this year. I was getting anxious over the fast-approaching holidays, and it dawned on me to shift my thoughts from the fast-paced holidays to the slowing down and slumber of winter. I worked retail the year before Covid and the first year of Covid, so the release of the loudness did not hit me till this year. As empty-nesters we waited till the kids came home to put the tree up, we stayed away from stores, we grounded our holiday decorations and celebrations to nature-themed and simple. The holidays came and went without the stress and overwhelming urge to run that usually marks this time.
In the northern hemisphere, we race through October, November, and December with loud, bright, and festive traditions. When January comes along, we are ready for warmth and sunny days. The running and fast-paced never stop. Autumn is the winding down of days, winter is the slumber, spring is waking, and summer is the wide-awake ready to go. The southern hemisphere has it nice with Christmas and summer fun smack in the middle of summer. All the rush and mayhem all smooshed together and then a real rest when it is cooler. That sounds like the perfect mix to me.
I don't like traditional holiday stuff with all the sugar, carbs, and presents we aren't going to use anyway. Spending money that we don't have or don't need to spend on stuff that isn't useful. Why a turkey in November and a ham in December or all the fixings that go with it, and why is it traditional to have all the"fixins". The trees, lights, multitudes of ornaments, and boxes of gifts. Oh, and let's not forget the Swiss Colony boxes of stuff that were made the year before and stored for our holiday pleasure but taste like cardboard and cost a lot more than they should.
If you are one of those people that relish the holiday process, then more power to you and I am glad you find peace and understanding with the process. But there are some if not a lot of people out there that do not or cannot get on the holiday bandwagon. This year we had a cookout for Christmas dinner, so our bandwagon was a chuck wagon with baked beans and a bonfire.
I was in church a few years ago and a man was giving a talk on Christmas and saying that this is the time of year we remember Christ and serve others. I sat there thinking aren't we supposed to remember him all year. The love he has for us is not just a December thing nor is the love we should have for our fellow man. We should be giving thanks for all we have, and our blessings year-round not just on a turkey-fueled day in November.
For those that dread the holidays, I'm with you, I understand you, and we are kindred spirits. We all have different reasons for this dread and it's ok. But this year create a new tradition for yourself and your family. Find peace within yourself. For those who relish the holiday season be nice and understanding of those who don't. Both sides should be grateful for each other and understand it's ok to have differences in opinion of why and how we celebrate the holidays. It is a time of year of rest and contemplation, twinkle lights and eggnog, and the love of family, friends, and strangers alike.
About the Creator
Erika Wood
I am a student of life just wandering my way thru the maze and enjoying every turn. Visit my sight as I write about the state I live in and other random thoughts that come my way.
Keep reading
More stories from Erika Wood and writers in Families and other communities.
Dear Mom and Dad
Dear Mom and Dad, You divorced when I was 11 and in fifth grade. Before that, you separated the summer before my 3rd grade year. I remember standing in the garage as you packed your motorcycle dad, and you left my mom for another woman who lived over 650 miles away. A woman as far as I know you had never met. I remember before that being dragged around town as my mom looked for you on a Friday because she thought you were with another woman. I also remember when you came back.
By Erika Wood4 years ago in Families
Wise~Guys
— Look Behind what's in Front of You ~ Make Good Choices — Hey, So how you Doin'..! Made~Men — Mobster Movies romanticise a distinctive, elegant appearance, impeccable attire style, along with the 'Families' expressive lingo. Making their 'Bones' gave them Panache — with vintage fedoras, tailored pin-striped suits, mirror-polished wing-tip shoes adorned with tassels; with their 'Gun Moll' gorgeous dates on their arms.
By Jay Kantor16 days ago in Families
Home Through the Winter Rain
Winter arrived gently that year, not with snowstorms or icy winds, but with steady rain that seemed to fall without end. The sky was a soft gray, heavy and calm, and the air smelled of wet roads and cold earth. On one such evening, a small family climbed into their own car, ready to begin the familiar drive home. The engine started with a low, comforting sound. The headlights cut through the mist, glowing warmly against the rain. The parents sat in the front seats, wrapped in thick coats, their breaths forming faint clouds before the heater slowly warmed the air. The mother adjusted the mirror, smiling softly as she glanced back at the children. The father rested his hands on the steering wheel, careful and steady, already focused on the road ahead. In the back seat, the children were bundled together like little birds hiding from the cold. Their jackets were bright against the dark interior of the car, and their shoes were still damp from puddles they had jumped in earlier that day. One child hugged a stuffed bear tightly, its fur worn soft from years of love. Another leaned close to the window, watching the raindrops slide down the glass in twisting paths. “Look,” one of them whispered, tracing a finger along the foggy window. “That one is winning.” The rain seemed alive outside, each drop racing the others, merging and separating, disappearing at the bottom of the glass. Streetlights reflected in the wet road, stretching into long golden lines that shimmered and broke apart as the car moved forward. The heater clicked louder now, filling the car with warmth. Slowly, gloves were pulled off, scarves loosened. The tight cold of winter faded into something soft and safe. The radio played quietly in the background—an old song the parents knew by heart. They didn’t sing out loud, but their heads moved gently to the rhythm. As the car traveled through the rain, the father slowed at each turn, careful not to rush. Tires whispered against the wet road. The mother pointed out familiar places as they passed—a closed bakery, a dark park, a row of houses glowing faintly from inside. Everything looked different in the rain, quieter, calmer, as if the world itself was resting. The children grew sleepy, their earlier excitement fading into peaceful silence. One rested their head against the other’s shoulder. The stuffed bear slipped onto the seat between them. Outside, the rain tapped steadily on the roof, a soft rhythm like a lullaby. “Do you remember,” the mother said gently, “when we used to drive like this before you were born?” The father smiled. “Long drives. Late nights. Just us and the road.” “And now,” she said, glancing back again, “we’re all here.” The children didn’t fully hear the words, but they felt their meaning. They felt it in the warmth of the car, in the way the parents’ voices sounded calm and close, in the steady movement carrying them safely forward. The road curved toward the edge of town. Trees stood bare, their branches dark and shining with rain. Water pooled along the sides of the street, reflecting the passing lights like tiny mirrors. Somewhere far away, a dog barked once, then fell silent again. One child stirred and yawned. “Are we almost home?” “Soon,” the father answered softly. That word—home—settled into the car like another blanket. Home meant dry clothes and warm soup. It meant lights in the windows and shoes left by the door. It meant safety from the cold rain and the long gray sky. As they drove, the rain began to slow. The drops grew smaller, lighter, until they were more like a mist. The clouds above thinned just enough to let a pale glow through, not quite moonlight, but something close. The world felt gentler somehow, as if winter itself had decided to be kind. The car turned onto a quiet street. Houses lined the road, each one familiar, each one holding its own small stories. The father parked slowly, switching off the engine. Suddenly, the world felt very still. The rain whispered one last time, then faded into silence. The children woke fully now, blinking and stretching. Coats were zipped, hats pulled on. The mother gathered the stuffed bear and handed it back with a smile. The father stepped out first, opening the door and letting in a breath of cool winter air. They walked together toward their house, shoes splashing softly in shallow puddles. The porch light glowed warmly, welcoming them home. Inside, the house smelled faintly of dinner and clean air. The door closed behind them, shutting out the cold and the rain. Jackets were hung up. Shoes were lined neatly by the door. The children laughed quietly, already talking about tomorrow. The parents watched them for a moment, tired but content. Outside, winter continued its slow rain. Inside, the family moved easily through their evening, wrapped in comfort and love. And though the night was cold, and the roads were wet, the journey had been enough—because they had made it home together.
By Sahir E Shafqat6 days ago in Families
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.