I am ashamed to admit that I didn’t realise til I logged in to write this inspired blog entry that it’s been well over a month since I’ve posted anything here. I think with the coming year I will be revamping this blog and hopefully make it more entertaining. But for now, you’ll just have to accept this post inspired by a conversation with a dear friend…
There has been a discussion/arguement on a forum we’re both members of revolving around whether or not a child should know the truth about Santa Claus. I personally believe that a child should not know until at least age 10 or 11. Christmas fundamentally changes once the cat is out of the bag. The magic and wonder that exists before you know is replaced by the mentality that Christmas is a time for getting new toys. There is no magic in getting new toys.
As the conversation progressed, I looked back on my own life and can see the changes in attitude about Christmas within myself.
Once I was beyond the stage of receiving toys, Christmas mattered even less. Couple that with a mother who was determined to make Christmas miserable for everyone because she was miserable, and I came to really loathe December. I have to say that retailers don’t make it any more enjoyable pumping the same old tired Christmas songs into our ears when everyone sets out on Black Friday to shop. By the time Christmas does come around, I’m ready to scream if I have to listen to one more song the day before Christmas.
For one, brief, shining moment a few years ago, I returned to that magical time of Christmas when I was in a relationship with someone who loved everything about Christmas and I saw again what was missing from my life. Sadly, though, once the relationship ended my feelings about Christmas returned to what they’d been before.
Now I am on a personal journey to recapture the magic of Christmas in my own life. As a child, the magic comes from believing in the unbelievable. Perhaps as an adult, the magic is in the actions we take. In the giving of unexpected gifts.