That Wonderful Time of the Year

It's celebrated in song as "the most wonderful time of the year". Retailers gear up for it months in advance and pray for bountiful profits. Kids await it eagerly as an opportunity for bountiful presents and no school. Pious Christians remind one another of their "reason for the season", while the occasional pagan indulges his (or her) sense of disenfranchisement and reminds everyone that it was his holiday first. We all know what time of the year it is: Christmas, followed by New Year's, the last two major holidays on the calendar and Western civilization's biggest excuse to self-impose misery followed by indulgence.

Why is Christmas so miserable? Believe it or not, the reason has nothing to do with long lines at shopping malls, long wish lists from the kids or long credit card statements. Nor does it necessarily stem from wintry blues and seasonal affective disorder. Holiday blahs are perfectly preventable, yet the culprit is actually a time-honored tradition. Every December people who spend the other eleven months of the year complaining about each other, harboring mutual resentment and unresolved issues, then suddenly decide to spend time under one roof and over the same dinner table. In-laws who were each previously convinced that one another was a worthless reprobate suddenly expect gifts from those exact same reprobates. In the name of hospitality and good cheer, extended family members get together and share stories of their favorite jerks, often in front of the individuals in question. Everyone has their own experience with this aspect of Christmas, which is best immortalized by Dennis Leary's dilemma in The Referee. (If you're sick of twenty-four hours of A Christmas Story nonstop, pop in The Referee instead. It will help ease the homicidal tendencies.)

No Christmas dinner is complete without a side of family melodrama. After my own grandfather passed away on Christmas Eve, my mother commented, "He did something every Christmas to get attention, this one'll last a long time." Instead of spending a quiet holiday at home, preserving sanity and easing volatile family relations, many people continue to honor tradition and keep company with misery each Christmas. At least their counselors are thankful.

Then there's New Year's. "Should auld acquaintance be forgot," indeed. After wallowing in our insecurities and resentments, we then switch gears to a holiday meant for introspection and beginning anew. The timing is certainly convenient when you consider how guilty a person can feel after a family drama at Christmas; just drink a little egg nogg, make some new resolutions, and tell yourself you're a better person for it. Why else would alcoholic beverages be so closely associated with New Year's?

I have my own resolution already. It involves no more trips to see future in-laws who address me with a vulgarity or divorced parents who still whine about each other over meals in separate houses. This Christmas, I'm staying home. You see, I learned from my Japanese neighbor that in her culture, New Year's is more important than Christmas. Forget the turkey dinner, but you better call Mama-chan for New Years, or else. I like that philosophy. Skip misery for the sake of obligation; it makes choosing those New Year's resolutions easier, more meaningful, and maybe even something that will stay relevant throughout the year. Then again, that may be asking too much. Sure, some would say skipping the Christmas rigamarole is Scrooge-ish, or even sacriligious. But I'm a Buddhist, so I try to do things in moderation.

Especially holidays.

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