December strategies

it's the most blunderful time of the year

Despite everything—the chaos of Q4, the unrelenting demands of the school and extracurriculars calendar, the brand new string of lights that keeps blinking out, the insidious non-Covid viruses, the way money simply flees from our checking account—I still love this time of year. I’m a freak for Christmas. I know, what with all the extras that this season demands, that something, somewhere, has to give—and usually, it’s my health or my sanity. But we’ll have a tree, and presents, and silent/holy nights, and opportunities to make merry, and I’ll scrape the bottom of my adrenaline barrel to ensure that it happens, and sleep, as they say, when I’m dead. Every year I resolve to do it differently, and I think that I do succeed—I never collapse in the same way twice; what fun would that be? This year I’ve been compiling a little list of dos and don’ts. They might not help at all!

1. Don’t schedule any appointment that isn’t strictly necessary between Thanksgiving and the New Year. Recently I checked my phone calendar and was dismayed to see various appointments that I’d consented to in moments of vulnerability, i.e., during the checkout process after doctor/dentist/etc. visits, when you’re so relieved to be done that you’ll say yes to whatever date they throw at you, dotting these December days. There were a couple that I couldn’t reschedule, but two for my daughter—doctor and orthodontist—I have shoved ahead into the bleak midwinter. Invariably, emergency things will arise, so put off the maintenance-type stuff for later (unless it’s therapy, in which case: just go). By my math, this is actually a way of creating time.

2. Get involved in a long reading project, maybe with a friend. E and I signed on to read Villette by Charlotte Brontë via A Public Space, led by Yiyun Li. I can’t overstate what a calming and rewarding joy it has been to sit down with this novel every day, sometimes first thing in the morning, sometimes just before I fall asleep. This is an example of keeping time, setting the frenzy of these hypermodern days against the metronome of a nineteenth-century Brussels boarding school for girls, layering my perceptions atop Lucy Snowe’s. The gift of the long novel (particularly the long novel read in regular, rhythmic measures) is how it infiltrates your consciousness, offers a world you can keep like a secret, wander around in at will, chuckle about at a red light. (My long read last year at this time was Crossroads, and I’m still thinking about the Hildebrandts.)

3. If you have a tree that you took the time to procure and set up and decorate, stare at it at least once a day. It needs you to do that. It’s supposed to be in the forest, with its friends, and instead it’s a sideshow in your living room, festooned within an inch of its life. Admire it, and every corny thing you hung on its branches. (If it’s a fake tree this still applies because even a “real” Christmas tree is a simulacrum.) This, or some other winter ritual—staring into the fireplace or at a candle, listening to a favorite album while moongazing—is an example of kairos, a critical reprieve from the despotism of chronos.

4. Accept the fact that your teen and tween is going to make Google Slides instead of normal wish lists. Just embrace it. It actually makes life easier. Thanks, kids. Thoughtful of you to include links.

5. Buy a container of cut-up pineapple at the grocery store at least semi-regularly. It’s so decadent, so wholly unnecessary, and when I open up the refrigerator and see it there, I feel downright rich.

6. Take a cue from the animals. I know it’s never easy to slow down, and frankly I’m a little tired of the Rest Industrial Complex constantly haranguing people to nap for seven hours a day, but there is something very hygge about pet behavior this time of year. They always find the warmest, coziest spots. They know they look especially cute by candlelight or firelight. They need a brisk walk or a zoom around the house a few times a day. When I feel like I’m at odds with my body or more accurately with having a body, I look at them, perfectly tucked and loafed, and remember the basics.

7. Re-read a book that makes you cry. I’m letting it all out thanks to Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt, reading it to my ten-year-old at bedtime. The sentences are so beautiful, the premise so pure.

8. Watch a movie that everyone has seen except for you, with people who love it. L organized the most ideal, intimate viewing party of You’ve Got Mail. Parker Posey! Steve Zahn! I’m so glad I waited to see it until well after my High Scoff years were behind me. I wish I could watch every movie feeling so cared for. And obviously, I cried!

Protect your peace, friends. It’s a long month. Say no so that you can, when it finally counts, say yes.