Gratitude in the time of Solitude
As a child, Christmas was a month long. The second the calendar read “December” in my elementary classrooms, there appeared snowmen on my quizzes and candy canes in my desk. The smell of cocoa lingers still on my hands; even more so, the feeling of a soft colored rug we sprawled on to watch a movie we’d split into two portions. The month was pure magic – a countdown to the happiest holiday of the year, per my Hispanic heritage.
Photo Courtesy of Camila Turcios H.
I hope your childhood holiday felt the same, that the bustle of the season warmed you to the touch. It didn’t take much to feel complete when your life was an abundance of your favorite things. Now, it seems we have misplaced the heart of the holiday—lost in the headlines of famine and destruction. You open your phone to news of a war, you walk the streets and spot cold-ridden families, you talk to your friends and no one has the funds for a bountiful Christmas. Winters have become a signal for a dreadful avoidance of seasonal anxiety and arguments with your parents. I do not blame you for failing to seek the joy you once felt so profoundly, down to your over-worn Christmas shoes.
We will never escape the dread hanging overhead of a holiday we no longer look forward to. The halo you wore as a child is dim—they yell, “You picked the wrong major,” and your sister hates that you’re not around. Anything but perfect are the table conversations you now share; people are missing from the seats they used to fill, yet you still hear them. These things are heavy on your lap—gratitude lacking obnoxiously. I seek, mercilessly, the kind December I knew at 10.
What changed? Rather, when did it? Was it the fall you entered high school? The year you told your mom you felt unlovable? Maybe the season you tried on your favorite Christmas dress and it didn’t fit? Or maybe it falls directly on the day you stopped letting yourself breathe.
During childhood, our days blended seamlessly because they were of undisturbed bliss, rest, and relaxation. Feeling the heat of anxiety and not that of laughter, I urge you to remember the last time you gifted yourself something amidst a hellish day—the last time you unclenched your jaw, untensed your fingers, relaxed your posture. Let go. We allow the season to be riddled in anxiety and rush because we have forgotten to be people in the manifestation of chaos and change. The impending doom of finals and a new year is no good for the heart; make a cup of tea.
Photo Courtesy of Courtney Perkins
The pressure you feel will not be lessened by the magic of the Christmas spirit. We must learn to balance on our toes—adulthood and the holidays. They seem to not exist within the same realm. We can’t fathom a week in which we do not work but instead watch a film, a day where we free up six hours to visit a family friend, a justification to not spend your life savings on the people you love. We didn’t stress these details as kids because they weren’t there; now they are unrealistic to avoid. However, simply because things are harder—times a-changing—does not give enough reason to hole yourself into a Christmas of despair; one must force themselves to remember there is still wonder in all that you do. In romanticizing a nap by the tree because you are tired, not because you have “earned” it. Your anxieties will always work against you to retract the happiness of any situation; let the season be yours, because that is something you will always be able to control.
Things will be okay. Christmas always forces an anxious mind to worry about spending enough time with your loved ones before they slip through your fingers; it makes you reel over how many gifts you are bringing home (hoping you aren’t forgetting any). It’s hoping you’re a great gifter and that your sisters haven’t gotten too tall while you were away. We are lucky to be worried over such things—that we have found-family we miss while we’re away, even that we are privileged to be educated and amidst a season of horrific final exams. Despite the million reasons we could hate the month of December, choosing to relish in the joy and whimsy of the winter is simultaneously the harder and most rewarding choice. Choose yourself now more than before; let go, and alongside gifting others, gift yourself. Better said in the words of Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks, “Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don’t plan it. Don’t wait for it. Just let it happen…”
Photo Courtesy of Camila Turcios H.
Strike Out,
Writer: Camila Turcios Hernandez
Editor: Ria Pai
Cami is a writer for Strike Magazine GNV. She lives vicariously through icons like Fancy Nancy and Summer Roberts, but realistically through much more somber ideas of Annie Erneux. She loves collecting jewelry, jokes, and Joan Baez facts, as we all do. If you ever feel inclined to contradict her ideas (which is hard cause women are never wrong), DM her at @camiturcioss on Instagram, or email her at camilaturcios1@gmail.com. For all other interests, her Pinterest is pretty awesome @11cheri.
