From the presence of a Christmas tree in my living room I am concluding that it must be around Christmas time. (I’m still boycotting calendars.) This will be my 17th Christmas celebration and I’m beginning to think I’m becoming quite good at celebrating this sort of thing.
Perhaps this experience would explain my indifference to the whole thing. I believe last year I wrote something along the lines of how Christmas is boring or something equally disturbing to Christmas enthusiasts. (I should look into my archives to make sure this statement is true, but I’m much to lazy to do that.)
The point is, Christmas is fun, but not that fun. It’s definitely not so fun that we should have yearly debates over whether to call the trees at my school “Holiday” trees or not. Sure, holiday sounds more inclusive, but…who cares? If you don’t celebrate Christmas then why should you care about the people who do? But that is a different note.
I think this picture of the Christmas tree in my living room (which I literally took like 20 minutes ago) explains my current view of Christmas.
I’m sure you’re asking yourself: “He thinks Christmas is about yellowish, abstract lights?”
No. Not quite. But close.
Christmas for me is a holiday. It is sentimental and nostalgic, but not a whole lot more. Christmas is ultimately a good thing that brings out the best in strangers; it lends opportunity to people who do not normally think to give, to give.
But Christmas doesn’t carry any excitement for me anymore. Which is okay because I revered Christmas with such fervency as a child that my attitude now seems like an extreme departure.
Hey, at least I’m not a ba-hum-bug…although I am pretty close to a ba-Christmas-is-boring-now-bug.
