That time of year, again

I used to love the holidays

They were a time of anticipation, of warm drinks and crispy nights where the stars all glittered with a promise of exciting adventures just around the corner

Life happens, as it does

Loved ones went away. Jobs shifted. Hometowns got shabbier. That bell ringer became annoyingly aggressive in front of the store. Instead of good will towards all, the mantra seemed to be, what’s in it for me?

The pandemic of sadness and grief settles like an ice fog over everything.

I want to tease out all the components that contributed to this and cleanse them of darkness, but

I lovingly hoard each dirty, grimy piece because they are mine alone. They are my companions, for good or ill. Perhaps one day, when the first daffodils poke out their heads from the cold ground, I will try to travel lighter, with less baggage and more kindness.

Until then, let me grinch and grumble, toast my irks, feed my peeves. After all, this is a time of giving, and it’s my gift to myself.

 

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