On Why I Hate Christmas.

It’s so obvious now, the way I can phrase it. The decline of Christmas for me coincided with the inability for me to express positive emotions. That was a decade ago. It was like steadily shutting down each year. Like expecting something really good to happen, and then be disappointed with the progressive years. So I stopped expecting anything. It… It was kind of hard. Being sixteen and still remembering when everything was still special. Going through the same song and dance. Yet I was the one that picked out the tree, I was the one that put everything on the tree. I was the one that made sure we had cinnamon buns, I was the one that put all the lights up. It’s no wonder we stopped getting trees when I went off to college that first year. Since then, I’ve just told my parents not to get anything for me.

I’m not a total scrooge, even though I may act it. It should be obvious that my anti-christmas nature for so many years has been a reaction. Is it? Is it obvious? I don’t know, sometimes I just assume people can see through me, that people would be in on the joke.

I was Santaist like every other little child. I don’t remember a moment when I stopped believing. It was more than Wendi telling me he didn’t exist. Honestly, I believe the disillusionment of Santa set the stage for the mindset that lead me to realize I was already atheist. But that was years later, I just assumed belief in Santa and belief in God were one and the same. Nobody really takes those entities seriously, right? Or so I thought.

Isn’t it obvious why this time of year is just kind of sad? Not that I intend to be sad now. I know I don’t need to wallow. I’m just reflecting, trying to pretend it’s past tense, even though maybe it’s a little present tense. We remember what it used to be once upon a time, and we know it’ll never be that way again.

But why not? Why can’t I just be cheery?

Of what I don’t particularly want to admit. It’s more than inability to express positive emotion. No, that’s just part of it. That will come when the right circumstances come around. I think it has more to do with general estrangement with my family. Ask for something? Actually GIVE something, in appreciation? I’ve pretty much shut down, in those regards.

For a time, I thought teaching Santaism to my children would be lying to them. But I’ve since come to realize that the knowledge that we can believe things that are false is a powerful one. It’s not something that will mean much at the time. But later on in life, we eventually have to come to grips with the fact that there are LOTS of shit we grew up believing that turned out to be false. Better for this experience to be harmless than life-shattering, no?

Reminds me of something Cliff and I were talking about in the diner this morning. He claims women have a harder time thinking about things they do not believe in. Theorically, objectively. We talk a lot about things we don’t believe in at all. He claims it’s easier for a man to say, “I understand what you’re saying, I see where you’re coming from, but I still do not agree with you.” Whereas, a female would have a harder time separating understanding from agreeing. As far as gender differences, I’m far too pragmatic to get caught up in it. I say as long as we understand each ohter individually, we can understand each other, period, as humans. He thinks there’s a dimension that the average female lacks.

Heh. And my female readership goes apeshit. You’d have to sit down and talk to him to understand. Though, no offense, the average person can’t sit down and talk to Cliff on the level he speaks. I have a hard enough time talking to males, let alone females. I think, like everybody else, personal experiences influence his intellectual interests. Females that can communicate? Maybe not, but I haven’t really met any redeeming males, either. Cliff’s the only male I’ve ever met that I can have an actual conversation with. I digress.

I’ll go get upwardly tuggified now.