Is it me, or is it beginning to feel a lot like Christmas? As the Macy’s floats deflate, we are beginning to feel the holiday cheer. Something about Adele’s Vegas residency feels very baubles, very deck the halls. Zendaya’s metal spine screamed Noel. December has landed, and everything is immediately more yule; each day is somehow cinnamon-y and oven baked and powdered with sugar. I myself am candy striped, leaning toward velvet and stockings. I said to my parents, “Maybe no prezzies this year—maybe we just practice gratitude?” But then I watched three episodes of Succession, and a little voice started saying “Omega watch.” (A louder voice, meanwhile, keeps saying “Yacht?”) Nevertheless, at the moment I am winter walks in the crisp December air. I am scarves and I am mittens. I am Kate Winslet in The Holiday.
There is, of course, a snag. You might feel it too? Christmas is coming, but there’s a humongous catch. Our chimneys are still slightly too tight for Santa, our inner elves unsure. With Christmas comes joy, but pure joy is a bit gray, a bit icky. The question for all of us right now is: Is it okay to feel excited? As more and more not-good news pours in from around the globe—and certainly as Omicron rears its head—those of us with even the most rudimentary empathy are feeling down. Is it appropriate, at this stage of a pandemic, to have a full-throttle Chris-mob? Can it be done without guilt? Do survivors of this ongoing tragedy even deserve all the trimmings?
It feels odd, doesn’t it? People are dying by the hundreds and thousands, and we’re just going to buy each other nice things? I’m torn, honestly. Not because I want a yacht, but because you can see the season in a number of ways. Christmas is both a rampant consumer fest and a holy night, but you needn’t pick a side: There’s something about the simple act of giving that can’t be bettered. It is both incredibly shallow and incredibly deep.
Weeks ago, the clocks changed and things got darker as another variant loomed. But I thought less of my own freedoms being renegotiated than about my family and the joy they deserve after this year. It feels more important than ever to remember and honor our familial traditions (while also respecting all the newness of our new normality).
So, I’m cautiously suggesting that we lean in to the joy, that we embrace the tinsel and we embrace the trappings—but with a mind to what’s going on around us. I guess what I’m really leaning into is the middle ground, a place where we can be thankful and reverent for what we have without forgetting where we are. In our ever-expanding global community, we can get stuck drawing bigger and bigger circles, our shouts rippling further and further outward. But maybe this holiday should be a time for drawing the smallest ring around those closest to you—creating your personal nativity scene—and talking in a whisper. The virus ain’t finished—it is both getting worse and getting better at the same time. I don’t want you to bury your common sense. I don’t want you to see you necking under the mistletoe without a negative lateral flow test. I want you to chase joy in a way that doesn’t endanger others.
And it’s right to briefly press pause on all things—the drumming of the news, the pursuit of joy itself—to remember who and what we’ve lost, and really feel it. It’s also right to rest and prepare for whatever’s coming next, conserving energy to adapt and readapt with each wave. In the meantime, we have the middle ground, the now. Not a Christmas past, not a Christmas future, but a Christmas present.
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