Finding Christmas, one tree at a time
Do I feel the holiday spirit, you ask? Honestly, not so much as of right now. And to think that Christmas is literally just a few days away. I’m not quite sure why. Perhaps it’s because billions of taxpayers’ money seem to be so easily tucked away into a few people’s luggage, while elsewhere, families affected by floods are left without homes to return to or tables to gather around this Christmas.
Or maybe it’s the mass shootings and killings that flood the news. It feels as though stealing and killing have become far too easy. I know it has probably always been this way, but with all of us constantly online, we are made painfully aware of it almost daily.
Another issue of mine, not that I want to sound like Mrs. Grinch, is how consumer-centered the season has become. Malls start decorating for Christmas as early as September. By the time December rolls around, there’s an undeniable sense of holiday fatigue. People seem less excited and more eager for the break than the celebration itself, longing for rest more than revelry.
Still, even in a season that feels overdone and overwhelming, I find that there are moments that quietly pull me back in. Small, unassuming reminders that beneath the noise and excess, the essence of the holidays still exists, waiting patiently to be noticed.
What truly makes me giddy this time of year is the sight of a Christmas tree. I love seeing them in all shapes, sizes, colors, and styles, each one dressed with its own mix of ornaments dangling from every branch. I don’t mind plastic trees at all. In fact, they make me feel a little better knowing fewer trees are being cut down.
But when I come across a fresh one, I have to admit, my heart skips a beat. A few days ago, I attended a Christmas party and noticed that my friend had a fresh pine tree, still in its pot, beautifully decorated. After the holidays, she plans to place it in the garden of her condominium and reuse it next year, if it survives the summer heat. Interesting, right?
At home, the wonderful house elves put up our trees while I was at work. Coming home after a tiring day and being greeted by twinkling lights was such a delight. Still, not having Dad around this year brings tears to my eyes. The house feels quieter, different. Beautiful, yes, but undeniably lonely. I am grateful, though, that my two daughters and my darling dog, Milo, are here to spend the holidays with me.
As I reached out to friends and asked for photos of their Christmas trees, something else struck me. Some didn’t even have the time to put one up this year. Others admitted that they made little effort to decorate or make things festive, caught up in work, grief, exhaustion, or simply life getting in the way.
And somehow, that was comforting. It reminded me that the absence of holiday cheer isn’t a personal failing, but a shared pause many of us are quietly experiencing.
So no, I may not be blasting Christmas carols on repeat or counting down the days with manic enthusiasm. I haven’t wrapped a single gift with Pinterest-level precision, nor have I felt the urge to outdo last year’s decorations. And apparently, I’m not alone. Some friends didn’t even manage to put up a tree this year, while others confessed that they simply couldn’t be bothered to make an effort. Life happened. Work happened. Grief happened. Exhaustion definitely happened.
And maybe that’s what this season looks like now. Not perfectly curated homes or relentless cheer, but survival with a touch of sparkle. Maybe Christmas doesn’t always arrive with trumpets and tinsel. Sometimes it tiptoes in quietly, shows up in the form of twinkling lights you didn’t put up yourself, a dog curled at your feet, or a photo of a friend’s tree sent at just the right moment.
Perhaps the holiday spirit isn’t about feeling festive all day, every day. Maybe it’s about allowing yourself to feel exactly where you are, without guilt. Some years call for loud laughter and full tables. Others ask only that you show up, light a tree, and call it enough.
And honestly, this year, enough feels like a gift in itself.
