I’ve noticed this year that nobody says “Merry Christmas!” anymore.
This standard holiday greeting has been replaced by a question that encompasses the annual overload of gifts, crowds, lights, cards, decorations, baked goods, parties, and guests. When you meet an acquaintance on the street, she’s bound to say, in a breathless rush: “So, are you ready?”
And this year, the first time I’ve ever been close to having my act together, I’ve found there is no faster way to alienate a friend than to say modestly, “Um, yes, actually. I am.”
She’ll stare at you as if three French hens had just landed on your head. And while she may say, “Good for you,” she now ranks you with the smarmy, obsessive, super-organized who bought wrapping paper on sale last January; who had all their shopping done by August 15th; and who assumed that batteries were not included and planned accordingly.
Nobody likes people like that.
If you don’t appear to be totally overwhelmed by holiday preparations, you come across as someone who sees Christmas as a time for peace and joy, for family togetherness, and for selfless giving.
Wrong.
Christmas is about stress. Think about it. What would the holiday be without the pressures of insufficient time, strained finances, and forced cheerfulness?
In past years, my holiday has always followed a traditional pattern: anticipation and excitement in early December, leading to moderate anxiety mid-month, shifting to full-blown panic (accompanied by unforgivable impulse purchases) just before the actual holiday. It all culminates in staying up Christmas Eve until two in the morning to wrap presents and bake pies—only to be roused at 5:30 a.m., not by eager children, but by my husband. (“Shouldn’t we wake the kids up? They’re missing Christmas.”)
Somehow it all fell apart this year. Due to a serious lack of planning, we uncharacteristically started shopping in November (I know, it’s crazy), and I wrapped gifts as we bought them. At this rate, this year there will be no last-minute presents sealed with duct tape under the tree. I hope the kids aren’t disappointed.
Without thinking, I bought extra baking supplies last month. Now I can whip up a Scandinavian tea ring at my leisure, and not have to find out on December 24th that you cannot substitute paprika when cinnamon is called for.
On a whim, we put up our tree nearly two weeks ago, at a time when I am normally making daily lists that start with “1. Find Christmas ornaments. Today. Seriously. 2. Throw out jack-o-lanterns.”
So I got ahead of schedule this year. It was an accident. And I certainly didn’t mean to be so relaxed. I blame, in part, the yoga classes I’ve been taking. They have just about wiped out any of the standard sleeplessness and worry that usually take hold around this time of year. While I truly wish to be rushing from store to store and cursing long lines like everyone else, I keep finding myself breathing slowly and evenly until a sense of calm washes over me. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it.
Forgive me. I swear I would ordinarily be a wreck right now. I’ve never been organized before and I’m sure it won’t last. And next Christmas, no doubt I’ll be back to overextending myself and trying too hard. I’m just having an off year.
But to avoid offending anyone who asks, from now on I will be responding to “So, are you ready?” with the following:
“Are you kidding? I have 46 people coming for Christmas dinner. My annual family Christmas letter is late and I still haven’t found rhymes for ‘refinanced’ or ‘tendonitis.’ The roof fell in on my gingerbread replica of the Vermont capitol building. The dog ate tinsel and needs to be at the vet at 4:00. And I’ve gained 8 pounds since Thanksgiving. I can’t wait till it’s all over!”
None of this is true, but whining really seems to boost other people’s spirits. If I’ve learned one thing this year, it’s this: Going around spreading peace and joy is no way to spend the holidays.
