There are a lot of people who hate Christmas, I know.
Without a doubt, these dates are very hard for those who are alone, like so many elderly people who have no one in an increasingly fragmented society.
For them, Christmas is a pain, but it seems to me that, in general, they don't particularly hate these holidays, on the contrary, they long for them.
So when I talk about people who hate Christmas, I mean those people around us (perhaps yourself, reader) who snort every time the subject is mentioned.
But I have a suspicion that, in reality, not all of them are sincere.
For example, it is possible that in some it is nothing more than a pose to appear more sophisticated, to distinguish themselves and move away from the sappy and soft Christmas party, which, in effect, is full of clichés and sugary families that crowd the advertisements for TV.
Not to mention, since we have mentioned advertising, the consumerist orgy into which we plunge headlong on these dates, and I am the first, I must admit it contradictory and contrite, because I know very well that such a barrage of gifts, lights, clothes party favors, paper plates and plastic cups we cannot afford as a planet.
These inconsistencies in my behavior usually eat me up.
But I think today I'm going to forgive myself.
Other people, probably more numerous, may say that they hate Christmas out of sheer emotional short-circuiting.
It is possible that, deep in their hearts, there is that primal desire for Christmas magic that was instilled in us during childhood, that naive desire for partying and family love, for excitement, surprise and triumphant joy.
And they may not know how to combine all this with the reality they live as adults, with petty and annoying relatives, with affective disappointments, with the feeling of artificiality and insufficiency.
With the rough life.
Hence, to defend themselves, they decide to reject Christmas.
Ok, they are within their rights, but it occurs to me that there are other options.
I am also very aware of the distance that exists between the children's story and the real world, but I prefer not to deny the inner child.
Which I think many adults do: they are embarrassed and embarrassed by the remains of their childhood that they carry inside.
I think, on the contrary, that allowing yourself a certain immaturity for a couple of days is great.
It will be simple, but it is also beautiful to play to believe that there is a special time on the calendar, a brief period dedicated to meeting with our closest people to try to love each other well and be a little better.
It is an ancient ritual that celebrates good feelings, something that many consider false and cheesy (while bad feelings seem true and serious, I just don't understand it).
I, totally cheesy, let myself be carried away by the most elementary topics;
I enjoy street lighting, I adore giving gifts,
I am captivated by the brilliance of the dim crystal balls and I must even confess that Christmas carols move me.
This is childish, surely.
But today I'm going to forgive her.
Then there are those who hate Christmas for the absent.
I admit that it is hard.
These days fixed like nails on the calendar and in memory are a raw reminder of loved ones who have passed away, of the holes in the table and in life.
And as the chairs become empty, reality takes on a kind of dusty veil.
Christmas becomes like a memento of our mortality, a
tempus fugit
baroque.
But there is also another way of looking at all this.
In the first place, because it is beautiful to be able to celebrate our dead in company, in the course of a banquet, collectively toasting their memory.
And, furthermore, because those who are absent teach us that we should enjoy more and better those who are still present.
Today I am going to forgive myself for feeling full of life, despite the many of mine who have left.
Lastly, isn't it extraordinary that there are such special days in the year that they seem to be outside the leaden laws of reality?
Some unique dates in which, with little effort, you can afford and forgive almost everything.
Lots of lightness and happy holidays, friends.
Subscribe to continue reading
Read without limits
Keep reading
I'm already a subscriber