In a Dickensian ("Christmas past") mode, I pause as 2025 begins. This post was largely written weeks ago. It was scheduled for distribution on Christmas Eve (I generally post on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays).
But, on Christmas Eve Eve, the Court rendered a replacement opinion in Ortiz v. Winn Dixie, Inc., 1D2021-0885, and I elected to push today's post back to accommodate that. Almost a week after that opinion, on December 30, the Court granted the motion for rehearing filed on June 13, 2023 (that resulted in the December 23, 2024 decision).
So, I provide the following thoughts as a precursor for 2025, in the spirit of Reelin's in the Years (November 2024). This reiterates the simple fact that we are all different.
I have fond memories of many holiday seasons. There have been generous opportunities over the years to accumulate and accentuate recollections and moments. Each December brings a string of commitments, a balancing of priorities, and usually a frantic pace. There is much in this season that is welcome and reassuring. And yet . . .
From my perspective, the season starts too early. I know this is a chorus of too many. The complaints about jumping the start signal are old and worn. We exchange them now more from habit and lassitude than any intellectual engagement. The complaint even managed to become a trope on The Simpson's Christmas (2024). The Simpsons has an uncanny history of predicting well, and presents some equally poignant takes on history itself.
Despite the "too early" becoming a trope, when the stores put the Christmas decorations out on the 5th of July, the length and breadth of the season can be exhausting by the time the Halloween candy is on clearance sale on November 1. Some people hang more outdoor decorations for Halloween than Christmas. While not an extension of Christmas, it may feel like it nonetheless.
Also, the Christmas tune soundtracks in stores can wear a bit thin. It seems there are only a few songs on the seemingly universal background track and they are repeated with increasing repetition. The radio stations were as redundant, but I have noticed this less in recent years since giving up on broadcast radio in the car. With streaming, we can all build our own redundancies now, whether that is an improvement or not.
In the stores, the Christmas tunes started last year well before Thanksgiving (you know, the Christmas shopping holiday in November). It might have been a relief to hear them interrupted with some advertisement or news break (like the old-fashioned radio). A few had a periodic message about the latest store offering, the sale on aisle 2, or some intended heartwarming anecdote about people I neither know nor ever will.
The holiday inquiries can be repetitious. Seemingly, everyone I spoke with in December had questions about my plans. This is conversational and anticipated from friends, business associates, and even acquaintances. But, I got this inquiry this year from the clerk at the grocery store (repeatedly), and the person I paid to cut my hair. Surprisingly, each seemed put off when I demurred. My holiday plans seem to be an unavoidable topic.
The season bustled, though. The stores were full of people, and the parking lots were full of cars. There were people everywhere jamming the roads, the store aisles, and more. Why couldn't some of these folks shop from home? In truth, I saw a lot of full shelves and empty check-out lines (perhaps the buyers did shop from home, and the rest of this congestion is mere spectators, like watching a train wreck?).
The food. I am convinced that we somehow manage to consume several months of calories each December. Why is it that every recognition, celebration, or gathering is centered on food? Why do these food moments never involve a salad, low-fat, or no-carb? I heard rumor of one pot-luck to which a participant who drew "side dish" selected a cake instead. Don't get me wrong, I love cake. But it ain't no side dish!
These are petty complaints about the season. There is much in the season for which we might complain, deride, or decry. We can certainly adopt our inner Scrooge, Grinch, Potter, or worse. Perhaps we could about any season? But, these are inconsequential and piffling. The simple fact is that there is also joy in this season. Though it is, as the Grinch observed, too often burdened by "boxes, ribbons, and bows."
There is conversation stimulated by the season's feel. There is a drive to gather, mix, and celebrate. There is a year-end sense of closure as we bring 2024 in for a landing and prepare to launch 2025, and all that it portends. We may become weary of various holiday season elements, but the feelings, community, and contributions are all inspiring for many and perhaps most.
Despite our many differences, this time of year brings many positivity, camaraderie, and connection. Our only commonality with someone may be a complaint(s) about the season ("too early," or "can you believe this soundtrack"). But there is the chance for solidarity and community nonetheless.
Or is there? I encountered a few dissenting voices last month. They dismiss the season for less petty reasons. Some among us have genuine and meaningful season aversions. I hear stories of the pain that this season represents for various people. They are struggling with anniversaries of lost loved ones, recollections of sad encounters, and frustrations with the world in general. They find little joy in this time and much angst.
Despite that, the pressures of joy and celebration are very much in their face. These people are pained by a season, and yet are just as inundated with its impacts, shopping, parties, music, and more. Their baser pains and discomforts are more troubling than my petty observations above.
They are not so much distant, dispassionate, or detached. They are merely uninspired by this season or repulsed from some association to pain past or present. They likely each have some time of year that appeals more readily to their personal recollection and celebration. They are neither Scrooge, Grinch, or Potter but merely choose not to engage in the particularity of this holiday season. Are they to be dismissed or derided because of their choices?
The recurrent message, the real point, is that people are different. While we might each find (likely petty) reasons to criticize the season, there are some who hold an honest and sincere aversion. As we venture into 2025, might we remember that this is true in the broadest sense?
Some may love birthdays, others not so much. There is Valentine's Day, Easter, Memorial, Independence, Labor, Veterans, and so much more. If you prefer one to the others, I say more power to you. If you are put off by any of them, I say feel free to ignore it. There is anxiety, stress, and strain enough to go around. Find your joy and ignore the rest. That neither makes you Scrooge or wrong. It merely makes you you.
In the process, however, we might each strive to muster the strength to respond to any unwanted holiday, any holiday, well-wishes with a smile and a nod. Those who voice such wishes are well-intentioned and their greetings signal their affinity for some event or season.
Let us strive in 2025 and beyond to simply remember we are all different. We will share some values, sentiments, and wishes, but may find others disagreeable or irrelevant. Nonetheless, we might all approach these differences with patience. After all, patience is a virtue.
I wish you all a virtuous an patient 2025.