Wait until next year

It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Goodwill to all men. And women. A time when we get together with loved ones and old friends. A time for gatherings, parties. A time for retreating, to rooms with roaring log fires, decorations, song.

I love Christmas because of its potential. It could be the most wonderful time. There is a collective will there for it to be so.

It isn’t the most wonderful time of the year. Christmas can be hard. As you scour the shelves for presents you can actually afford, elbows at the ready for other shoppers, you don’t feel a whole lot of goodwill. Everything is stressful. The pressure for everything to be wonderful often makes the whole holiday collapse in on itself. Sometimes there aren’t the parties, or the loved ones, or the places to gather or escape.

I love Christmas despite this trepidation. It could be the most difficult time. It certainly will be for many, despite whatever collective will we may or may not have today, the first of the month. But there is still something special there. We haven’t entirely lost it just yet.