It’s funny how the holidays seem to arrive predictably each year, yet they always catch me off guard. One moment it’s just another day, and the next, I’m inundated with countless renditions of “Santa Baby” on the airwaves, and my neighbor has transformed into Clark Griswold — who pays for all those lights, anyway? The festive fervor around grand feasts escapes me. Honestly, I’m not a fan of green beans or fried onions, and the mere thought of them touching makes me shudder. Setting the table? Not my thing. And who really needs coffee at 10 PM because we’ve overindulged in dessert? It all feels excessive.
But before you grab your holiday-themed cups and chastise me for not embracing one of America’s hallmark celebrations, consider this: can you truly celebrate the season in that idealized Hallmark way when you lack one essential element — a community?
Some folks, like those serving overseas or away from loved ones, face the challenge of separation. But I’m referring to the elderly neighbor down the street who’s housebound, or those who’ve lost their families or been forgotten. There are also individuals grappling with depression or anxiety who find social gatherings overwhelming. Like many, I have navigated a holiday landscape where the absence of a traditional family means facing another season without the expected warmth of togetherness.
Thanksgiving, for me, often feels like just another Thursday, not the much-anticipated day that others prepare for with great zeal. The holidays have been burdensome for years. My parents divorced when I was 16, and our family was already small. My father’s passing a few days before Christmas a decade ago certainly cast a shadow. Recently, my husband and I have also faced challenges, leading to a difficult November for the past three years. This year was no different. When my mother lamented, “Why should we bother? What do we even have to be thankful for?” it prompted me to reevaluate my own perspective.
Instead of counting my blessings, I began to reflect on what I wished I could be thankful for. I allowed myself to mourn the dreams of a large family filled with love, the joyful laughter echoing through decorated hallways, and the multitude of people sharing stories around a table, lingering until the last sip of wine. That vibrant scene isn’t my reality, but my aspiration is to transform that grief into gratitude.
While my community may be small and fractured, it doesn’t diminish the things I can appreciate. For starters, I have a beautiful, healthy toddler who deserves a richer experience during the holidays. I want to teach him that love manifests in quiet moments, not just in extravagant celebrations. “Special” doesn’t have to mean grand feasts; it can be found in simple hand-holding and tranquil days.
In a world that often urges us to seek meaning and purpose, we will remind ourselves that numbers aren’t everything. We will return to the core essence of this season — to appreciate one another, what we possess, and even what we lack. When it’s all said and done, perhaps we’ll find gratitude in not having to endure that one uncle’s controversial opinions or the stress of traveling through traffic to reach a relative’s house, complete with that dreaded green bean casserole.
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In summary, while the holidays have often felt isolating, I’m committed to shifting my focus towards gratitude and redefining what makes this time special. My small tribe may have its flaws, but it also holds immense potential for love and appreciation.