Muddling Through Somehow

My wife is a Christmas junkie, and through the years her overwhelming enthusiasm has managed to virtually erase my own Scrooge-like tendencies. And you can't really pull off a humbug pose with two young kids nipping at your heels--even the hardest heart melts like Frosty in the greenhouse at the sight of your own offspring bursting with joy on Christmas morning.

So I'm not trying to resist the cheer this year. I'm letting it in, and I'm extremely grateful to be able to celebrate and revel in the love that surrounds me. And isn't that what Christmas is really all about, Charlie Brown? (Enough with the shepherds already, Linus. Save it for right-wing radio.)

And yet, there's a reason that the suicide rate skyrockets this time of year. Circadian rhythms, shorter days, the constant barrage of manufactured blah blah blah...It's not that for me, so much, actually. Instead, I am reminded of very specific losses during the holiday season, in ways that we probably all are, and those wounds feel as fresh to me now as they did over a decade ago.

I see a couple ghosts, in other words, more clearly than ever this time of year, and I can't pretend that I don't. I don't want to pretend that I don't, because I still love them, I still miss them, and I'm grateful that they're still here, even if it cuts me deep to catch a glimpse of them in an empty chair next to the Christmas tree. I'll take those reminders over real absence any day, and in my own way I'll try to thank them for hanging around to keep an eye on me and help guide me forward. Because God knows I need them, now more than ever.

So here's to a clear-eyed, open-hearted holiday, absent of expectations and filled with real love and joy. And lots of booze. And chocolate.

Speaking of which, I'm still ploughing through on the fitness front. I've lost 7 pounds in the first week and have slipped into a fairly workable exercise routine. The real challenge lays ahead, of course, and I'm taking Christmas day off to indulge as I see fit with the belief that I can hop right back on the wagon the next day. We'll see.

And because there is no way to avoid Christmas music in the Huntington house these days, I present to you what has become far and away my favorite holiday song, sung with just the perfect bittersweetness by Sweet Baby James--assuming I can get this embed code to work. I don't care if it's cheesy--it's a flat-out beautiful song, and it perfectly captures my mood right now. So have yourself a merry little Christmas, now.