The freeway was empty at 4:30 in the morning. At least, that’s the way it seemed. The shimmer of headlights from a far-distant automobile reminded me that I wasn't entirely alone as I made my way toward the airport the in pre-dawn darkness. But other than the telltale pinpricks of light miles behind me, I felt completely isolated.
It was also the kind of quiet that you can only get while driving alone in the darkness. The hum of the car had faded into the background as I watched the white dotted lines race past me. My decision not to turn on the radio was an unusual for me: I tend wither and die without a daily dose of NPR news coverage. Despite the absence of Karl Kassel’s dulcet tones, however, things were very peaceful. The clack of my tires rolling over the regularly-spaced expansion joints created a subtle double-time metronome, the perfect percussion for an a capella version of Silent Night, which sprang forth almost involuntarily.
It was a simple, perfect moment. I would not generally describe a freeway trip at 4:30AM on the way to the airport as a perfect moment. But this time—it was just perfect. I was going home for Christmas.
I don't really care about or for most holidays. I hate Halloween. I vilify Valentine's Day. In my world, a holiday's value is directly proportional to how many days of work I get to miss as a result. I don't decorate, I think celebrating holidays in the workplace is silly, and I don't go to the holiday parties. I don't give gifts, dress up, or bring holiday themed snacks to work. By all standard definitions of the word, I'm a holiday curmudgeon.
For every single holiday except Christmas. There's something special about Christmas that touches me in a way that no other holiday can. I decorate two months early. I spend Halloween night walking down the aisles of the stores looking at Christmas decorations. I listen to the music in July. I send out cards and letters. I go insane with the gifts for my family. And, of course, I always go out of my way to be “home” for the holiday. (Home being wherever my parents live.)
As I was driving along I-405 so early in the morning, I tried to reflect on why it is that adore Christmas so readily and completely while other holidays leave me somewhere on the spectrum between cold and rage-filled. I came to the conclusion that it’s because Christmas provides me with a single thing so often missing in my life: Peace.
The modern world is rarely a fertile ground for peace. Work, bills, responsibilities, money, e-mail, cell phones…they are all things that distract and excite. In my life, there’s no time to simply sit back, relax, and embrace the calm. I'm swamped with work, worrying about getting laid off, trying to figure out how I'm going to pay my bills, taking care of the dog, running errands, and generally filling my life with all sorts of cosmically unimportant problems, dramas, and issues. I’m checking e-mail, surfing the web, checking my investments, working on my business, talking on the phone, playing video games, watching TV, playing with my toys. Nothing I do in my life brings or provides peace. Except for those few days a year where I can set all that aside and just be with the ones I love.
At Christmastime, it's okay for a Curmudgeon to cast off his war-hardened demeanor and become like a child again. One of the most beloved Christmas stories, A Christmas Carol, is about just that. My never-ceasing bah humbugs of life can be set aside for a few days. I leave my world behind, shut down my email, refuse to answer phone calls from anyone but my family, and I just enjoy the company. No schedules, no requirements, no demands.
At Christmas, it's okay for a 31-year-old single man to smile at a little child standing in line to see Santa Claus and not feel as though people will think he’s a pedophillic pervert. It’s okay to sing songs and play games, to buy presents and give them with no expectation or requirement for reciprocation. It’s okay to tell tales of elves, reindeer, and Santa—to play along in a world of excitement and anticipation and childlike enthusiasm which simply doesn’t fit in the day-to-day adult world. It may seem simplistic, but that’s the beauty of the holiday. It is, at its root, simple. We adults manage to complicate and make frantic the holidays, but Christmas can and should be simple. And those things we feel we have to do for the holidays become all the more enjoyable because we get to do them for the ones we love.
When I was a young child, we often used to drive from our home in Southern Michigan to visit the grandparents in Northwest Ohio. We always did Christmas Day at our own home, we would regularly have our Christmas Eve in Ohio with the grandparents, then drive home late on Christmas eve to be at home for Santa's delivery. Most of the time on road trips, my siblings and I usually fought like cats and dogs. At the best of times, we all had our headphones on, and listened to our own respective Walkman for the whole trip doing our darnedest not to talk to one another. I remember the Christmas Eve drives being far more peace, even magical. We would sing Christmas Carols often. My infatuation with the song Silver Bells comes from singing the song as we drove through the Main Streets of small cities in Ohio bedecked with Christmas lights and decorations. We would retell the Christmas stories and legends about Santa, the Elves, Rudolph, and of course, about the Birth of Jesus.
And we talked: The kids would ask dad questions about how Santa did his thing, and my father, who was always lightning fast with improvisation, developed a mythology around Santa of which the Greeks could be envious. On more than one occasion, Dad would get us overly excited about the presents we were going to get tomorrow—his favorite line of all time being “you're going to like it SO MUUUUCH!” As it would get dark outside and my brother, sister, and mom would all fall asleep in the car, while I would stay awake with dad and we'd talk in low voices. I always stayed awake on road trips because I didn't feel like it was fair that dad was the only one who had to stay awake, and I wanted to keep him company. Those talks with dad made me feel special: like an adult whose opinions and thoughts really mattered. And one time, staring up at the sky, I was convinced that I actually saw Rudolph's red nose zooming past in the sky over the highway.
As I was driving in the dark to the airport at such an ungodly hour, I was powerfully reminded of those trips back from Ohio where we celebrated Christmas. Dad wasn't there to talk to, Jake and Megan not there asleep on the pillow on my lap, I wasn’t driving through small Ohio towns, and there weren’t even many Christmas decorations. But I was going home for Christmas.
That’s why I listen to Christmas music in July. That’s why the Christmas decorations go up well before Thanksgiving. I simply can’t wait to recapture the sheer peace and happiness of those times when my life was so much simpler. I was extremely blessed that my holidays were always filled with love, excitement, peace, and joy—I know many were not that fortunate—and I can’t wait to get back to it again.
So I will continue to drive to the airport at 4:30 in the morning, stand in a long security line, sit on a cramped, smelly airplane, and pay for the right to do so year after year. I will continue to put up my decorations after Halloween, and listen to Christmas music whenever the mood strikes…even if it's July. I'll still keep singing Silent Night or Silver Bells to myself in the car at night time. And I still check the sky every Christmas Eve night to see if I can spot Rudolph's glowing red nose way up above me.
Because Christmas truly is The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.
Merry Christmas!
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