I hope that most people who know me generally wouldn’t consider me to be a Grinch-like character. But there is one aspect of me that is certainly up there with The Big G.
I just don’t like Christmas.
There, I’ve said it.
The fact is that I would dearly love to opt out of the whole charade, but I simply don’t know how to, without upsetting at least a few people. Christmas, it seems, isn’t optional.
I have no problem with the “peace on Earth, and goodwill to all men (and, of course, women and children of both genders)” aspect. In fact, it’s a principle that I try to live by all year round – I don’t save it up until December.
It’s the compulsory jollity that gets me down. I don’t want to dress in stupid clothes and drink myself senseless, thanks. I really don’t need to stuff myself full of the kind of foods that, in sufficient quantities, could induce a heart attack that would fell a hippo (tasty though they may be, brussels sprouts excepted).
I can do without the stress of choosing and buying crap gifts that the recipient neither wants or needs. Sending greetings cards by the dozen to people I wouldn’t know if they attacked me in the street seems utterly pointless. If we have any kind of relationship, let’s write in April or July, just because. But how do you stop without offending people? (Perhaps they want to stop too, but don’t know how to without offending me? Hint – Just stop, I won’t be offended, just delighted, I promise.)
Of course, the whole shebang has no relevance to me from a religious perspective, since I’m a foaming-at-the-mouth atheist who seriously doubts the existence of the messiah whose birth we’re supposed to be celebrating. It’s as relevant to me as Ramadan. Quite apart from which, many of the things that we have come to accept as symbolic of this Christian event are pagan in origin. In fact, the religious bit of it has become such a minor part of it, that I’m sure many people don’t even know about it these days.
As if this lot isn’t enough, it all starts earlier and earlier, usually some time in November or even October, and is pushed down your throat pretty constantly thereafter. By the time the actual day arrives, it’s a huge anti-climax, and I for one am heartily sick of the whole thing by then. And it’s all to do with making you spend yourself silly. The idea that I’m being emotionally hoodwinked into impoverishing myself for the likes of Amazon’s bottom line kind of irks me, you know?
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to cancel Christmas. If you enjoy it, go ahead – knock yourself out. I’m quite happy to bemusedly watch it go by from afar, and otherwise have nothing whatsoever to do with it. But that’s almost impossible. There seems to be a cultural obligation to take part in the charade, or be marked as a sort of pariah.
One day, I’ll make the break completely. I don’t know how, or when, but I’m determined to do it.
(I quite like the idea of a winter family gathering, as they used to have before Christmas go really going, with a good meal and conviviality, without all of the above nonsense. Perhaps I can persuade those whom I hold near and dear to go along with this idea…)