Holiday Hygge

The power to unwrap expectations

There are words in other languages that do not have direct English translations.   They are like little secrets from other languages that, only if you speak that language, are you in on the secret.  For example, the word saudade (Portuguese) describes a longing for something you no longer have.   The Danish word Hygge is another word that does not have a direct English translation.  The word describes the idea of coziness and warmth.  The definition is “a quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being.”  

It is December, and I’m not feeling any Christmas hygge.  Don’t get me wrong, I have done all of the things: I have been listening to Christmas music since October, I have started Christmas shopping, and I have decorated the outside of the house with

festive Christmas lights.  Today, we are buying our Christmas tree with plans to decorate it on Friday.  In my mind, my goal is to create an atmosphere of hygge and allow everyone to experience it.  At this point, you would think I would be gushing with Christmas joy and spewing holly, mistletoe, and tinsel.  

But I’m not.  

I believe Charlie Brown put it best, “I think there must be something wrong with me, Linus. Christmas is coming, but I'm not happy. I don't feel the way I'm supposed to feel.”  I have always been a proponent of the phrase “fake it until you make it.”.  But truth be told, I don’t think I’m faking it very well.  

Since I was a child, I have loved the holiday season.  It is my favorite time of the year.  The anticipation of finishing school, decorating the tree, the delicious food served only once a year, and anxiously trying to figure out what is inside the wrapped packages under the tree.  As a child, these were all things I looked forward to.  I still look forward to these things, but now I’m in charge of them.  Which, in my mind, means I am responsible for creating my own joy.  It doesn’t just happen magically.  

Every year, around this time, I go through phases of feeling melancholy.   In the first draft of this essay (it has already gone through many iterations), I couldn’t pinpoint exactly why I felt this way.  As I have thought, written, and processed (writing is therapeutic), I have come a bit closer to identifying why this happens to me every year.   I just get sad–for no rational reason.  I have a nice house and a loving family.  I have plenty of food and clothes–more than necessary.   It isn’t seasonal depression. I live in Florida, and it might get cold, but the sun rarely goes away. But every year, I just get this weight on my shoulders.  

I imagine my “Jesus is the Reason For The Season” friends would point out that my lack of festal bliss comes from removing Jesus as the reason for my season.  I can assuredly say that is not it.  I have written extensively about my de-conversion and am solid in that the reason for my yuletide unhappiness is not due to a lack of religious conviction.  In fact, it is quite the opposite; during this time of reindeer games and giggles, I prefer avoiding being bogged down by church services and other religious accouterments.  These are things I now consider obstructions to time spent with my family.  I wrote in another essay about how, when growing up, my father or grandfather had to read the Biblical Christmas story from Luke before we opened up presents–at home or my grandparents' houses, somebody read it.   My family has never done that and will never do that–it just isn’t a part of our Christmas morning.  This is most definitely not the reason for my seasonal melancholy.  

As I have put my thoughts and ideas into words and those words to the “virtual paper” that is my laptop, I might have come up with an inkling of why I feel this way.  Maybe I put too much pressure on myself to recreate or experience that fairy tale version of Yuletide happiness.  Who wouldn’t love to not have any outside worries (like births and an exhausted wife from said birth, kitchen faucets not working, thinking about planning a holiday party, making sure the house is clean, work–all things going through my head this very moment)--to be able to enjoy a cup of hot coffee with homemade whipped cream, sitting in front of your lit and decorated Christmas tree, a burning yule log on the TV, and Vince Guraldi’s Christmas music playing softly in the background.  

I want the holidays to be memorable and lovely for everyone–not just me and my family, but everyone.  I want everyone to have a time of love, connection, and memories.  But I know that this isn’t realistic.  There are people who dread Christmas for multiple reasons.  There are some who don’t have any family and will be alone.  Others have bad memories or are just unable to enjoy the holiday season.  I just wrote about the Christmas song Fairy Tale of New York, which describes two people experiencing an unhappy Christmas.  It is sad and unfortunate that everyone will not always enjoy Christmas.  

And that makes me sad.  

As adults, we no longer get two weeks off at Christmas. We still have life responsibilities that we could choose to ignore, but it's probably best not to.  Maybe the best solution to my holiday blues is just to pause.  Attempt to get through all of the stuff on my to-do list during the day, then take the time to enjoy my family.  My kids are no longer little; we all have busy schedules. Finding the time is challenging,  so it is essential to make the time.   I need a constant reminder not to get too far into my head and turn my focus to what is important.  In my sugar plum fairy fantasy, I want everything to be perfect–if not perfect, then at least comfortable.  And if not necessarily comfortable, then at least happy.  I can find happiness.  

The presents that I still need to buy?  Not important.

The Christmas feast I will cook on Christmas day?  Not important (though others might disagree).

The fact that we don’t have our tree up yet?  Not important (though necessary to live out the previously described “fireside” joy)

The kitchen faucet that won’t work?  Important, but not life or death important.  

I haven’t done any sort of Christmas baking?  Not important, but if I want to take some time and make something, I should.

Making sure the moments together as a family are meaningful?  Incredibly important.  

So, where does this leave me?  My holiday melancholy is not gone. I still feel a sense of sadness, but I have a better understanding of the root cause.  It boils down to being okay with and embracing the imperfection.  It is funny, but I identify with the classic PBS character Arthur. As I have been thinking of how to wrap this essay up, the opening song from Arthur’s Perfect Christmas (you can watch it here) kept running through my head.   Arthur (the aardvark) is singing about what will make his Christmas perfect.  He sings: 

“Our tree will shine so brightly

Our tree will be eight feet tall

Popcorn strung diagonally

Candy canes and silver balls.”

And

“Dinner will be delicious

Turkey and candied yams

Stuffing a mile high

And seventeen types of pie!”

And, of course, his Christmas did not turn out to be the perfect Christmas he had dreamed up.  But by the end of the special, he could embrace the imperfection and still have a memorable and loving Christmas with his family.  

So.  

If a children’s cartoon aardvark can do it, I can certainly make an effort.