We've talked a lot about deconstruction this past year. Deconstructing what it means to be a man, a woman, a person in society, and so many concepts and traditions that have gone unquestioned or unexamined for so long. It's a necessary but hard and often painful process, and just one of many reasons why 2017 has been such a stressful year. Every day, there's something new to be worried or outraged about, or some new problem or issue that demands attention, and it's harder than ever just to make a living. Sometimes I think the motto for this year should be: 2017, Where Nothing is Certain and You're Always Angry.
Anyway, I've spent so much of the past few weeks just trying to untangle all the knots in my brain so I can finally relax, like how my mom used to spend hours combing the snarls out of my hair when I was a kid. Those knots came from lying in the pine straw building tiny stick houses for my plastic Pokemon, but these mental knots come from just being an adult in the United States during one of the strangest years on record, combined with natural tendencies toward anxiety. As a result, I've had a hard time feeling Christmas-y this December, but I've also learned more than ever about what actually brings me joy this time of year, versus what I'm "supposed" to enjoy. In many ways, this Christmas was similar to the one I experienced four years ago.
I'd sit down to watch Elf and soon my mind would wander off to whatever new thing was bothering me that day, instead of focusing on how freaking cute that little puffin in the opening credits is (I have a thing about puffins). I'd sniff a fir tree or drink some wassail and feel warmer inside for a moment, but no less unmotivated. However, holiday cheer still managed to make itself known in some less traditional, more unexpected ways this year. I felt more Christmas-y laughing over a beer at my favorite Ethiopian restaurant, or eating grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup in a church fellowship hall, than I did decorating my apartment. I couldn't afford much in the way of presents this year, so I didn't feel that jolly walking around the mall, but I did feel the spirit walking down the streets of Carrboro one evening singing carols with friends, despite it being 65 degrees, and seeing people come out on their porches to join in the face-to-face giving and receiving of joy without spending a dollar. Like warm weather, spending an afternoon rolling stuffed grape leaves is probably something most people in the U.S. don't associate with the holiday season either, but it wasn't until I dropped everything else for a moment to prepare this meal for people I loved that I finally felt some peace on Earth for a change (though it helped watching snow fall softly outside as I rolled). It was also snowing the day all but one of the people in my weekly song circle couldn't make it to our coffeeshop, but as my one friend and I quietly played Silent Night, with only a piano, our voices, and a 40-year-old guitar, the spirit of Christmas felt more alive in that moment than it had all December.
In this deconstruction of what the holiday season means to me, I learned that what I ultimately enjoy most about it, even when life tries its hardest to get in the way, is that it can be a chance to reclaim the intimacy slipping away from daily life, intimacy with our actions and with the people around us that brings us closer to God, to our communities, and to our humanity, the intimacy of a divine being sharing in mortal suffering. Keeping this sense of full presence in the world and with other people is one of many goals I have for 2018. As hard as it is to live in a time when so many definitions, including that of common decency, are changing or challenged, it's also exciting. We're being forced to take a good, hard look at society's flaws, but we're also figuring out how to fix them, and showing tremendous creativity in the process. 2017 was, in my opinion, a year of great art, especially cinema. May 2018 bring even greater awakenings and creations.
