1797: Holiday Season

It was my last day of work before the Christmas holidays today, and I am very ready for a break.

Once again my mind is drawn to the fact that Christmas has become a less enjoyable, less meaningful event in my life with each passing year. The day itself normally ends up being fun — at least the part up to and including opening presents and eating lunch, after which comes the slightly uncomfortable part where no-one’s quite sure if it’s socially acceptable to go off and play with their respective presents — but that excitement that I’m sure used to be there is no longer present.

Perhaps it’s to do with the fact I tend not to send cards any more. I haven’t done for several years, largely because it seems like a whole lot of hassle for not a lot of gain. Or is that even true? It’s certainly nice to receive a card from people who have made the effort — particularly those who are overseas, who oddly seem to make far more of an effort than my friends closer to home — but I haven’t felt the motivation to write any of my own cards for years now, and I don’t tend to receive all that many either. (I’m not sure many people do any more, to be honest, though I could be horribly mistaken and actually be some sort of social pariah, which isn’t beyond the realm of possibility.)

Cards used to be an exciting time, though, particularly back at school. I’d get one of those big bumper packs of cards, mentally sort them from “best” to “worst” (and within “best”, into “funny” and “vaguely romantic; suitable for people I fancy”) and set about writing a significant number of them over the course of an evening or two. I’d then proceed to hand them out, either by hand or using the “post” service that the school sometimes ran around Christmas time, and then wait to get some in return. Then there came that magical moment where I’d open a card, see that someone I quite wanted to get off with had written “love” (perhaps with kisses) instead of just “from” and I’d get all excited, my mind firmly in denial as to the fact that they’d probably written it in everyone’s cards, not just mine. I’d ensure, if I hadn’t sent them one already, that they got one of my “best” cards in exchange.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m missing a trick here. Cards are often cited as a good opportunity to remind people you care about (or at least think about occasionally) that you still exist. With the fact that I’ve been feeling a little bit isolated over the course of the last — few months? Few years? Certainly a while now — perhaps it would be in my interest to use cards to try and reach out to a few people I haven’t seen for a while.

Or perhaps it’s a futile gesture, encouraged as a means of card manufacturers to squeeze more and more money out of us every year as we’re convinced that we have some sort of obligation to send small rectangles of cardboard to as many people as possible around this time of year, when in fact all we want to do is be left alone in a bit of peace and quiet to enjoy our turkey and presents.

One or the other. Either way, I’m happy it’s the holidays, and hopefully the Christmas period will be a restful, relaxing time for everyone.