According to the online version of the Cambridge Dictionary, authenticity is “the quality of being real or true.”
I am pursuing authenticity this holiday season. I am embracing reality and truth, dammit.
Reality: As winter approaches, it’s cold out, and it gets dark early, I don’t like either of those conditions, and they affect my mood. I don’t do well with the holiday itself, for various reasons. One of the reasons is that I am not any different than a lot of other people, and so sunny memories of childhood serve merely to remind me that I am no longer a child and that things are not as simple as I thought they were. Also, I am anxious about getting and giving presents. I have a very small family these days, consisting of distant siblings plus my child, son-in-law, and grandchild, but in odd-numbered years my close family goes to see the other grandparents in another state, so I’ll be alone. Finally, my mother (an Episcopal priest) died on Christmas Day, and despite her Parkinsonian dementia, she planned and executed that death. She did. She stopped eating and drinking just far enough ahead of Christmas that she lay there in full Cheyne-Stokes breathing while my husband, kid and I sat around at the nursing home in the middle of their holiday party. Thanks a lot, mom.
Truth: If I want to feel better, I have to embrace reality. I have to surrender, instead of arguing.
Therefore, I’m surrendering. I’m giving in. I’m having a very authentic holiday season.
- My Christmas tree is up, and has been up since the day after Thanksgiving. It sparkles in a very dignified way in the corner. Of course, it’s a fake tree, but it’s doing a good job of pretending to be a real one. It doesn’t smell like pine needles, which is fine because that smell makes me sneeze
- I have candles glowing all over the house, tall white tapers in beautiful candleholders. They look elegant and peaceful. They flicker. Of course, they’re battery-operated cheap imitations I bought on Amazon, but I can’t have real candles. Not only would I set the house on fire, I have asthma and smoke sets it off.
- My fireplace is glowing and crackling at the side of my open plan first floor. I can feel the heat of it on my face. I have always loved fire, and I find it hypnotic and comforting. It’s the only YouTube video I have saved on my account.
- Baroque music is playing sedately, filling the air with majesty. I’m playing it from an Apple Music “radio” and the speaker is wireless; my mother always had a piano in the house and everyone except me could play, but this will do just fine.
- Oh, yeah, and I mailed physical Christmas cards to most of my friends, and went out and bought presents for my family; the ones I’m giving my kid and son-in-law, though, are gift certificates for things they would buy for themselves anyway.
It’s all terribly authentic, and I’m not joking. Yesterday, I spent most of the day inside, wearing two bulky wool sweaters at once, drinking hot tea made with water I boiled in the microwave, faking all the wonders of a country winter, with the cat in my lap, and it was perfectly authentic. It was real, true, comfortable, and joyous, and I’m going to get through the holiday season if it kills me.