Shattering the Myth(s)

I still remember the day I realized, with finality, that Santa Claus wasn't real. I was standing on the back porch area of our house in Burlington, IL. I can still smell the hay-ish smell of the ropey, natural fibered rug/mat my parents had put on the floor back there. The room was essentially a closed-in porch and was always a bit colder than the rest of the house and always on a slope that made you feel off-kilter.

Anyway... there I was, standing around doing... something - and I looked down in the trash and saw the empty packaging for my Snoopy pencil sharpener lying in the trash. The pencil sharpener had been a stocking stuffer... and I was overjoyed and perhaps slightly self-righteously excited to finally have hard evidence there was indeed no such thing as Santa Claus, but rather two parents who were still keeping up the ruse for my younger brother (who still very firmly believed).

I think I confronted my mother, who acted surprised it had taken me so long to figure it out, and I agreed to keep quiet until Brent discovered the truth on his own or started asking questions about the veracity of our Christmas myth.

This story sticks out in my head because I feel it marked a major turning point for my relationship with Christmas. I think some of the nostalgia and fun and giddiness of the season was lost in that moment. The season became about something else, and perhaps also became something that could never quite live up to my childhood adoration and complete immersion in the magicalness of it all.

But it also meant that Christmas became about much more than "presents" and getting what I wanted. I felt greater responsibility for giving as well as receiving, and I felt a sense of power, love, and happiness to be able to be someone else's Santa... to be the one who created magic because I had found something that echoed my sentiments and said something more than ca-ching. Something more akin to, I love you * I know you * I care.

I sort of equate this with the attachments I hold now and the way in which my understanding of the world, my value and beliefs, my conception of truth, etc. are all changing as I continue to grow, evolve, and age each year.

It's interesting to be aware of what we hold onto and what we let go. To look at the lies we tell ourselves because they are easier to handle, and the truths we avoid because they are too painful to embrace.

Not every myth is dangerous - and there is something bittersweet in the loss of blissful ignorance that comes with letting go of some of our personal lore - but ultimately, I think I would rather strive to see things as they are... remembering perception is always a matter of choice and mythology is grounded at least somewhat in truth.

Self-Imposed Pressure of the Parenting Variety

We missed the Lights Fantastic Parade tonight. We had intended to go, because Ari slept through most of it her first Christmas, was too young to go at the time it was held her next Christmas due to bedtime constraints, and would have been at the perfect age for it this year. Her friend was going to be there... and it was written on the calendar as a dedicated, planned event for this weekend.

And then Andy and I just totally spaced on it. I didn't remember until about 6:45pm... which meant it was too late to head over and too close to bedtime as well.

Of course, Ari has no idea we let her down in any way whatsoever. We hadn't really talked it up or said anything about it, and she was perfectly happy to watch The Berenstain Bears nestled in blankets and laps upon the couch... and then head into her nighttime ritual, thinking of what she wants to do tomorrow.

But I am disappointed, and I feel guilty for letting her down. I think I feel such pressure sometimes to be the perfect parent - to offer her all the happiness possible, to make every holiday special, and to find or create events in her life that will become happy memories she'll treasure later.

Silly to put that much pressure on myself and silly to think my idea of perfect might be the same as hers or that I have that much control over her experience and perspective on her life. (Or that there is even such a thing as perfection.) She will make her own meaning, create her own narrative, and enter adulthood with her own concept of her childhood, our parenting, etc.

So... I am trying to let it go. There's always next year (if we're here), and - as Andy said - plenty of more time to provide opportunities for joy.

behind the veil/between attachment

My lovely husband helped point out tonight that I am on the cusp of achieving all I set out to accomplish and had identified as what would make me happy.

And I realized, in one of those quiet kind of ah ha moments that the only thing standing in the way of my happiness is myself... and my attachments and ego, which tends to make things kind of cloudy and uncomfortable.

So silly. I am capable of being so very silly sometimes.

I think this is something I would like to change—this inability to embrace my happiness and to find peace with and accept where I am. What is. Who I am. Who I wish to be.

Loving ourselves can be so tricky sometimes, and yet it seems to be at the very heart of what helps us move forward, evolve, and let go of our cloudiness so we can help others and be truly present in our lives and the lives we encounter around us.

Not that I'm there yet, mind you. But things got a lot clearer tonight... and hopefully it will stick!