So much pressure. Pressure to give and receive joyfully, pressure to be positive, pressure to bake and wrap and unwrap and reduce reuse recycle. The cat has the right idea – curl up on the dog’s bed and self-clean.
Our Israeli neighbors have it down – skip the presents and the lights. But then they find themselves feeling isolated, wondering what their traditions are this time of year.
I want to strike that balance between full and empty, between festive and chill.
Everyone who walks through my door needs a good listening to, a check-in, a balancing, a check and balance to name the thing they already know to be true, which is never a surprise.
Not so many words tonight, after trudging with kids through pick-ups and drop-offs and parties and presents, after so many parking tickets – for shame.
I don’t even put music on, only listen to the tapping of fingers on keys, the hum of the heater that costs us so dearly, knowing that in a way everything this week is on hold, push pause, wait for January, then go, out of the gate, a new kind of rush.
Either that, or some slice, slice of life, spiked with cloves and whiskey, hot, clearing your stuffy sinuses, bringing you first up, and then down, down for the count, the countdown to nothing.
You could wait your whole life for the thing you think is just around the bend, imminent, will change everything. But that thing, it keeps not coming, and your life is happening just as it is, nothing different, nothing separate, nothing foreign about it. You could wait, you could wait, you could explode with not knowing.
Or you could do that other thing, that thing that seems so hard but ultimately comes as a relief, which is to sit. To be still. To be quiet. To just be.