Dear Santa, take a break
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Dear Santa,
I鈥檓 not doing Christmas. We鈥檙e both busy so I鈥檒l just come out and say it: I鈥檓 ready for 2023 to be done. It hasn鈥檛 been my favorite year; in fact, it鈥檚 been my second-least favorite. Over the past 12 months, my family has experienced all manner of things. We鈥檝e stomached redundancies, severe mental health issues and death. That鈥檚 way more than any of us asked for.
I鈥檝e been thinking. There鈥檚 something I need to say. Quite a lot, actually.
Life is not easy. In fact, the whole system needs reworking. We鈥檙e born, we go through the living hell of puberty, and then slowly grow old. During which time, we witness the people we love die, before eventually shriveling up to die ourselves. That鈥檚 if we鈥檙e lucky. I鈥檓 on year 38 of this madness and to be honest, I鈥檓 tired.
I鈥檓 also grateful.
This week I spoke to my dear friend, Ian. He鈥檚 beautiful. Ian has the twinkliest of eyes, an adventurous spirit, a wicked sense of humor and the hugest of hearts. He also has terminal cancer. I love Ian, and Ian might not see another Christmas. That immovable reality breaks my insides.
There鈥檚 a lot about life I find really rotten. Sometimes I think I鈥檓 just not very good at it. But Ian made me reflect. Let鈥檚 say I am lucky enough to live to be 100 years old. Also let鈥檚 say that every Christmas between now and then has a box. I have 62 boxes left. That鈥檚 not that many boxes. Yet this year I鈥檝e spent a fair bit of time wishing away the time that I had. I鈥檝e bent relationships, broken up with myself and gotten consumed by the chaos of living. All the while, not appreciating the countless things there are to live for.
You鈥檒l know, 2023 has seen a lot of conflicts. Around the world, people are in pain. That pain brings perspective. Yes, my life is far from perfect. I hate how I look, I have work anxiety, and I own at least one Miniature Schnauzer that doesn鈥檛 give a toss what I say. But in the grander scheme of things, it could be worse. This isn鈥檛 about comparison because comparison is toxic. It鈥檚 about appreciation. I guess this Christmas, I鈥檓 flipping the narrative. When I say I鈥檓 not 鈥渄oing Christmas,鈥 what I mean is that this year I鈥檓 doing Christmas differently.
Santa, you鈥檙e a gift giver. Gifts are given; gifts are also taken away. We lose things, we lose people, and sometimes we lose ourselves. Gifts are not granted. Over the years, I鈥檝e had countless incredible presents. One Christmas I got light-up rollerblades, later an iPod, then an iPad. Eventually, I got 鈥淭he Complete Collection of Stories and Poems of Winnie-the-Pooh.鈥 Perfect.
This year, thousands of readers gave me the gift of engagement; loads of people gave me the gift of friendship. Jane brought me music, Mary brought me yoga pants, and Mark brought me homemade honey. David, Ans, Louise and Karli asked earnestly if I was OK. Mensa sent me a diary, and Rob drew me a picture of a cat. Shane loved me. There are others not mentioned who are much appreciated. I鈥檓 swamped in kindness.
It鈥檚 natural to want. Humans rarely think they have enough. But on reflection I have everything I need. What I need to do is use it. Ian taught me that. Life is mine for the taking, but not for long because it isn鈥檛 for anyone. In a world where things often feel complicated, divided or dark, we must look for the light. It鈥檚 there.
While I鈥檝e been battling life, people have been showing me that mine matters. So, I put my faith in them this year 鈥 in people. Meaning you can take a break.
Enjoy yourself Santa, because 2024 will naturally cough up stuff. And trust me, I鈥檒l be in touch.
With love and thanks,
Emma
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