In the darkness, the Christmas tree lights are a true symbol of advent. Mystery in the darkness. A sense of wonder.
Advent is my favourite season of the year, even though November is my least favourite month. Layers of grey permeate every hour, and the dampness makes everything, even the ethereal heavy. Besides being a Scorpio, November sucks.
Alas my friends, then there are the Christmas lights! They’re the first thing that I attend to in the morning, getting down on my knees to find the plug and make the connection. As a young mother, I wanted my son to have the same sense of wonder that I did upon waking and seeing the tree illuminated in the dark, chill morning. As the mother of a young adult, I want to continue that sense of wonder, the feeling that something wonderful can come of the darkness, that stillness can be a time of self-discovery and that there is joy in silent reflection. As a partner and caregiver, I hope that my darling wakes up to the lights and feels the very same things.
Realistically, I live in a house with people whom I’m not sure have such a deep, symbolic appreciation of this season as I do. Whatever.
‘Whatever’ has become a word that pops up more and more in my silent thoughts. It’s the 80’s baby version of WTF.
The reality is that Christmas has changed for me. I’ve gone from a child waiting for Santa, to being Santa. I’ve gone from a young woman excited about the romance of the season to an older woman who has officially let all hope of Christmas romance go. I do however find joy helping in any way that I can to fan the flames of that excitement in the life of my friends and family who are in the midst of that, ‘Hallmark Romance’ period of their lives.
This morning I woke up to an email from my Mumster about the energy of the fuss and muss of Christmas, and how this year, her sister will be hiring a cater rather than doing the cooking herself. In her wisdom, Mumster has deduced that age 55 is the age at which you pretty much get tired of the foo-fur-ah (foo-fur-ah def. bullshit) of the Christmas season. I’ll let you know if I agree when I reach the spritely age of 55.
Inevitably life changes as you know darlings. Our energy levels ebb and flow, as do our priorities. Health remains our biggest asset, and it becomes more valuable the older we get.
Although I’m not the marathon baker, wrapper and Christmas-party-throwing woman I was ten years ago, I like to hope that I can keep my own sense of wonder alive through the season. Sometimes it’s just wondering where the wine went, and how my ass got this robust.
Humor and wonder is what will keep me young. It’s what will keep my eyes open to the little twinkle of light in life that brings happy surprises, belly laughter and passion. This is the stuff of a youthful spirit. Let humor and wonder be your own Christmas miracles, regardless of your age or circumstance.