Over the Top Holidays
Not so much . . .
Across the street from me, my neighbors have constructed a holiday display in their yard which covers every square inch of available space. I’m able to count fifteen inflatable snowmen, grinches, and the like. The house itself is covered with enough Christmas lights to be seen from outer space, and more decorations, like candy canes, gingerbread houses, and trees are outlined with lights that flash and change colors. As if that were not enough, the garage door is covered in a white screen, upon which Christmas movies play to the sound of Christmas rap music (who knew there was such a thing?).
I try to keep a sense of humor about this spectacle that requires sunglasses so as not to damage the eyes, but the truth is, the display makes me feel sad. Exploring the sorrow and irritation that comes forward when their lights go on at dusk have led me to a life lesson: bigger and more are examples of the greed that has infected our consumer ways. I’m not saying that my neighbors are greedy or that they expect too much. They’re very nice people, with good kids. That being said, their holiday display speaks to a shadow side that dogs our culture.
As a nation, I fear we become more lonely with each passing year. Advertising has seeped into every area of our life. It’s not just commercials on television anymore. It’s the buy, buy, buy, the more, more, more of social media, phone apps, your search engine, YouTube, AND your television. The underlying message of all advertising is this: You’re not enough; you don’t have enough; you’re not good enough; and you need to buy more so that you can look and feel better.
What is across the street from me is an altar to consumerism. In the belly of that beast lives the rumbling of a constant cultural bombardment of not being enough, and that’s what makes us feel lonely.
One of the things I enjoy most about getting old is that life has slowed me down. I’ve become an observer and a witness instead of a competitor. I wander and I wonder. I linger. The slowing has changed my perception of my self, others and the world.
My neighbors across the street were among the first to extend help during the big ice storm a couple of years ago. In frigid temperatures they dug around the frozen water components in another neighbor’s yard, helping them to get their water back on. Like I said, they’re good people, and at the same time their holiday display mirrors the un-beneficial message of “not enough” that has taken hold in our society.
In our younger days, my husband and I threw a lot of Christmas parties. We put up big trees, sent dozens of Christmas cards and did our own version of bigger and more. But, as I said, age has slowed us down to a more contemplative pace, and this is how the holidays look to us now:
We celebrate with a wreath and poinsettias by the front door, that hopefully feels like a “welcome in,” to those who come to see us. We no longer put up a tree, but have lit garlands here and there that feel sweet. We love the small lights in the darkness. We understand that we have enough and are able to share, so we donate to a charity that will help others have a better holiday. We exchange smaller gifts – a good supply of Burt’s Bees lip balm, flannel pajama bottoms, a book, maybe a new winter beanie. We relish the slower, darker days and spend what time we can on our back porch, gazing into a forest that feels sheltering to us, gifting us with beauty and a sense of peace.
On Christmas day, we hike our favorite trail. We grill a good dinner and I set a pretty table. After dinner we like to watch A Christmas Carol or It’s A Wonderful Life, both stories that underscore the grace of giving.
If I could give one great, perfect gift to the world it would be the assuaging of loneliness. I would wrap it up in a magic gentleness that says “You are enough. You belong.”
I love the lights. That’s what the holidays are really about for me, small flames in the darkness that offer hope and goodwill. Light is what guides us out of the dark. Light is what we give when we share our bounty with others. Light is what keeps the heat of love burning in our hearts, so that others will not die from the cold. Light is what welcomes in the stranger.
This year, may we all spend a little more time lingering in front of the fire, and a little more time taking in the moon. May we hug more and criticize less. May we dig for understanding that allows for more acceptance. May we sit in the quiet stillness of the night and linger upon thoughts of peace and goodwill. May we recommit to being a force for good.
However you celebrate the season, may you know that you are enough and you belong. I’m taking cookies to our neighbors on Friday, because they belong to the community. Their over-the-top display has become a teacher and I’m grateful to see it that way. I only want to wish them the very best. Besides, they do help me keep a sense of humor.
What’s most important to you in celebrating the season? Please comment and let’s have a conversation.
Dear and precious readers, thank you for being a part of my world. Sending you love and appreciation, ~Stephanie
I believe that as we age, many of us understand Annie Dillard's observation that "how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives." Living on a working-class income for several decades, I have resisted consumerism for most of my life. Once my late husband and I increased our income, I went through a stage of collecting stuff and indulged in Christmas decorations and celebrations. During that period of several years, I also developed a deeper relationship with nature and the outdoors, and in a few short years, that relationship replaced my consumerism.
In the early 2000s, I rebelled and changed how I celebrate holidays. Thanksgiving became a pot of soup, a loaf of homemade bread, and a hike at a nearby wildlife refuge. I do like Christmas and decorate a smallish tree, and display some simple decorations but each year, I reduce what I have and do.
I don't understand the attraction to plastic blow-up Christmas decorations and massive light displays, and when I lived in the suburbs, it was the norm. It seems like a lot of work for something the displayer does not actually see much.
Oh, Stephanie, you speak so truly here. Our culture is addicted to consumption--the evidence of our insatiable appetite is all around us, wherever we go. Homo Colossus, one ecologist has called us. And we're not just consuming stuff, we're consuming the planet and the resources that our children/grandchildren will need. I'm glad for the personal peace each of us can feel as we free ourselves from these habits. But I also hope that we feel an increasingly deep distress--as you do here--as we witness the impact of human greed around us. Ooooh, as I read this, I see how dark and preachy it sounds. Apologies for that, and yet I feel it must be said.