The fight is over.
Bags are out of the car, boxes taken out of closets and other hiding places.
Storefront gates are pulled down and locked. Weary workers head home to stay up basting turkeys and wrapping gifts or basting gifts and wrapping turkeys depending on how much whiskey and wine are consumed.
Frustrated commuters have shaken off the stench of bus and train travel, jet lag, car sickness and long walks home.
Children are tucked beneath covers, their little hearts beating with expectations and anticipation while their parents tip toe on creeky floorboards while silently putting together bicycles and doll houses.
Trees are lit and lights are strewn.
Cookies for Santa rest on plates, stockings are stuffed and music is playing softly.
You’ve done what was expected.
You’ve counted and recounted, fretted over the things you couldn’t get and the gifts you couldn’t afford.
Ready for morning to arrive and traditions to begin.
Some will seize up with joy as they watch their children or grandchildren revel in the innocence of material gain. A childs high pitched squeal of excitement is one to relish, to hold on to and cherish.
It seems those moments are few and far between. Before you know it they have grown beyond the magic and the squeals become squeaks of disbelief, not in the myth of it all; but in the sense of it all.
Some will awaken in the newness of neophyte love and exchange gifts that never made it under the tree. They will spend the morning expending last nights energy into new presents planning futures together.
You’re excited. You have physically prepared for this day. You have a picture in your mind of what the day should “look” like.
Have you any considerations to what it will “feel” like?
There will be those who harbor ill feelings, they will resent the morning and awaken sickly; clenched emotions throughout the day patiently awaiting the sunset.
Their demons will revisit the ghost of horrors past and settle on the dust of bad moments pushed to the foreground of terrible memories and anxious feelings.
It will be a painstaking undertaking for a heart forsaken.
Broken people will wear the disguise of cheer to avert tears and avoid spilling over into others celebration.
There is a strength involved in any mourning process, a strength granted only to the most stoic amongst us.
The weak will consume intoxicants and become inebriated with angst and lament; dragging the innocent onto the stage of their narcissistic play acting out every scene inside the script they’ve written insanity and calamity auditioning for a starring role.
These proclivities can damper our carefully constructed day. That damper can add to the destructive behavior we wish to combat. Attitudes can rob Peter to pay the pied piper.
Don’t allow that.
What we will tell these burdened souls is simple.
We will say, with the utmost sincerity, “if your heart is missing the link to man made traditions then remember they are but mere man made traditions and I give you permission to make your own.”
You are the keeper of traditions.
You are the controller of the spirit that enters your home, your heart, your lives.
You can choose to open your life, your energy, your arms to embrace all the inconsistencies and imperfections that come with this seasons greetings.
Tis the season to be tolerant or tolerable.
The fight is over.
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