This Holiday, What If I Let Time Be Precious Instead of Scarce?

Image by author

Steph, wake up and smell the coffee — and the eggnog. Life is right here. It’s Christmas. Why are you fretting over the tiny things? Why don’t you let go of the urgent nothings so you can pick up that spatula and bake cookies with your sons?

But since you’ve already allowed yourself to bake cookies with your sons this week, what if you enjoyed it — fully? What would baking be like if you didn’t let the tiny things you insist are important right now — which aren’t — rent space in your mind? What if you gave those scratchy renters a piece of coal, a pat on the butt, and said adieu? Or better, sayonara, baby?

People say, “We never know how many Christmases we have left.”

I say, “Let’s pretend we have 300 left. The 299th is still going to be here before we know it.”

Not that enjoyment should be propelled by a mindset of scarcity — or, frankly, could — but that’s what the reality of this Christmas has been so far for me. It’s a unique time of year when traditions parade in front of our adoring watch, memories flow, and connection is the name of the game — even if it means via the postal service.

But there are only so many of them left — no matter who you are — and I’m treating this one like a small, overstuffed sack. It’s not a sack. It’s a gem.

Winter festivals are an old idea. They used to be as utilitarian as they were celebratory. Winter used to mean less sun, less food, and possible starvation. It was a time to entice longer days to return. It was a prompt to hunker down and dig in. These days Walmart is open 24/7, so we’re good.

And while I joke, maybe that’s one reason why it can be so easy to feel overwhelmed at this time of year with the juggling of responsibilities. We have more than we need, which both shields us from starvation and constructs walls of endless “important” tasks that stand in the way of a true savoring of simplicity during this special winter month.

I feel less pressure to “do it all” than I did ten or twenty years ago. Back then there were busy kids to care for and work and other interests that took time. The holidays arrived and the long lists unfurled themselves whether you wanted them to or not — it all seemed so imperative. And maybe it was.

But I’m older now and some of those things have gone away or died down to a simmer, and I don’t unfurl such an imperative list of responsibilities. I don’t allow myself to believe so many things are important or necessary. Yet, I live above ground, not under a rock, so the holiday still has a way of tugging on my sleeve, “Help! I need you! For something or other!”

Maybe it’s a habit of mind that I fret over this, but regardless, it’s nonsense because the holiday doesn’t need me. I need it.

We all do. Regardless of the name of the holiday or the fact that we celebrate one. Each winter we live in some kind of culture that comes together with laughter as lights twinkle, hope stretches far, and hearts are in a like-minded sync of interconnection.

This is because Winter is no joke. It’s harsh, even if it’s only because it’s dark.

It took some self-awareness this year to notice I haven’t enveloped myself in the joy of the season. I’m not in the dumps, and I’ve gone through the motions — lights are hung, the tree is up, gifts are accumulated in a pile, and my Christmas cards recently embarked on their postal adventure— but I haven’t been mining this seasonal opportunity for what it can offer.

Once I saw what I was doing to myself, I put on my jacket and went for a walk with holiday tunes drifting from my phone sticking out of my small backpack. It was a temperate day, not too cold, and the trail was modestly decorated in brown, gray, and beige. It was quiet. The tunes came from my Christmas Spotify playlist. Gene Autry, Bing Crosby, Tony Bennett — the old-timers. But also The Pretenders, Wham!, and Paul McCartney — the new-timers. (Alright. Fine. Those guys are old-timers, too.)

Then in the distance, sirens started to blare into the air from their vehicles’ frantic race to some unfortunate situation. More sirens piled on, their sound exploding the silence, and then came giant honks of a firetruck. It wasn’t Christmasy. It was sad, and I said what I always say when I hear a shriek of sirens, “I hope everybody is okay.”

It jolted me into reality. Here I was fretting about small, unnecessary peanuts when the truth is that life is far bigger — for better and for worse.

When the sirens faded, the music emerged again from my backpack. It was “O Tannenbaum” from the Charlie Brown Christmas album by the Vince Guaraldi Trio — one of my favorite albums of all time, of any time of year. It is a jazz icon at the top of my lifelong love of music. That album was released in December 1965, when I was not one year old, and was the soundtrack of the television special of the same name. I grew up with that show and those tunes, and they’re part of my blood. If Happy had a sound or a look, it would be that album and those cartoon characters.

During Covid, when we were all sheltered in place, my youngest son — who we say has the music gene — played songs from that album on the piano through December. A part of me hopes I never stop tearing up when I conjure that memory — when the happiness of the past stepped up to console the sadness of the present.

As I started to climb the last hill on my walk and make my way home, it all became clear to me that the opportunities for genuine joy and peace this holiday season should cancel out any of the small stuff I inflexibly insist must happen. I’m the only one who thinks they should happen or will even know if they do. In the long run, I’ll be grateful that I chose quality over quantity.

And so, my kids and I will do some baking soon because it’s joyful, it’s simplicity, and the days that I’ll bake with my kids are numbered. I’m talking scarcity here but by way of saying how important those times and their memories are.

The holidays, in part, mark a cycle of happy times. They are not forever or unlimited. They are precious and beautiful — if I allow myself to make them so.

---

Happy Holidays to you. I'll see you in a couple weeks. Happy New Year!