Okay, so we have all been put through a life gauntlet, fully
punctuated by a pandemic.
And now we’re smack dab in the middle of the holiday season.
Nothing like easing the pressure.
There’s also been added pressure as we try to resume
normalcy in this era of life and death uncertainty. Conflicting reports that we
can reunite and gather for the holidays… oh no, now we can’t. Omicron variant.
Still not safe. Still, the possibility of a plague spreading.
And while all of that is happening on the macro level, we are
living our individual, personal micro-levels lives. Unique pain,
struggle, fear, death, and loss. Unique anxiety, uncertainty, dread, illness,
and hopelessness. Unique struggling, present tense, as yes, each of us,
somehow, some way, is presently tense about life.
It doesn’t seem to look so great. For some of us, we are
haunted by a past of trauma and abuse. For some of us, we are just trying
to survive the day, forget about thriving in it. For some of us, there
is despair, not hope, not love, not joy, not future
in our future. It seems unarguably bleak.
So, yes, let’s now place pressure on ourselves to celebrate
with holiday lights, excess consumption, and forced get togethers. Many of us
have no capacity to do that.
I’ve been in plenty of situations, surrounded by plenty of
people who have desired that I “turn that frown upside down.” I have been in
rooms of people who would rather I comfort them with untrue, coerced
happiness, rather than have them be uncomfortable with my real, harsh, and
inconvenient upset.
And especially at this time of year.
After all, after everything we have been
through, pandemic and its forced isolation included, who are we to say
no to celebrating?
Well, we are the currently struggling, the currently
incapable of performing holiday joy and festivity on demand.
I love celebrations; don’t get me wrong. But where I have
major issues with celebrations, even this fabulous holiday season we’re in now,
is when the party, the meal, the gift-giving, the forced and untrue happy
facades are more important than any one individual.
The celebration whole is NOT greater than the sum of its
hurting people parts. One person should not be
sacrificed for the greater holiday event.
But others may not see it that way. Therefore, we need to go
mercenary, rogue, even.
We need to, perhaps, go into hermit mode… and, if we cannot
celebrate, then we need to commemorate.
Commemoration is private.
When we think of celebration, we automatically seem to think of a
group of people, a party, a social occasion. We think of many people eating,
drinking, laughing, talking.
With the holidays, it’s further amplified. Now, we add singing,
dancing, perhaps, exchanging gifts, encircling a Christmas tree, a Menorah, lighting
some candles, and being surrounded with a lot of stimulation. Everything is
altered, lit up, noisy, highlighted, and screaming, “Happy Holidays!” It’s
enough to make some of us start construction on a bunker or dig a hole in the
nearby snowbank.
Commemoration, however, is a different kind of word. It speaks to
a more solitary and quiet occasion. Maybe lonely, maybe grieving. Maybe
painful. Commemoration can often denote grief and death. What or who did we
lose? How are we doing with that?
What did you and I lose within this last year? Does that answer
prompt that we choose, this year, to commemorate instead of celebrate
during this season? There is nothing wrong with doing so.
Commemoration is personal.
Celebration also is often associated with the public: the
gathering, the party; the assembling of people is put on blast. It might be at
a community center, a theatre, a church or a synagogue, or a friend or family
member’s home. But it is often away from our home.
Or, if we find ourselves hosting some holiday event, in the name
of celebration, we often feel we are invaded. It does not feel like a friendly
visitation.
Commemoration, however, again, can possess a solitary quality to
it. Yes, there are plenty of commemorative events that are quite public. Yet,
often, the personal can get lost or obscured in doing that public treatment.
And, because of that, we can, perhaps, feel even lonelier and more
hopeless. It becomes about the bells and whistles, the decorations, the event
organization, the budget, the overwhelming components attached to the
commemoration.
Maybe we need to be private, and ruthlessly personal, right now.
Maybe we need to be alone. We can often get shamed for that alone
status. People can look at us, and ask, “What’s wrong with you?”
Maybe one thing is. Maybe it’s multiple things.
Maybe it’s a death, a crisis, a loss, or a struggle so profound that being
around other people hurts us.
There is nothing wrong with you and I choosing to forsake the
stressful celebration for the more calming, quiet commemoration. If something
means a great deal to us, let’s honor with the corresponding action that best
exemplifies a life well-honored. Sometimes, that is being quiet, removed from
the self-consciousness we’d encounter from other peoples’ eyes and
expectations. We have the right to take care of ourselves… with no one else
around.
And, we have the right to heal, as much as we can heal right now.
Commemoration is honest.
Celebration often lies. It disguises itself as happy, as joyful,
as carefree, as loving.
But looks can be deceiving. What is truly behind the
celebration? What are the ulterior motives?
Social status?
Keeping up with the Jones’?
Money?
Fear?
Obligation?
Guilt?
Doesn’t exactly sound so celebratory, now, does it?
But we try to reassure ourselves and others that “everything is
fine.” When nothing could be further from the truth.
If you and I are left to commemorate to ourselves, we maybe stand
a better chance in being honest with where we’re at and how we feel.
Who do we need to impress?
There can be a sacredness in the brutal honesty, far removed from
prying eyes. Some of us need that right now. Healing is often a quiet, not a
noisy, process. And it does its best work,
honestly done. To quote the old saying, it is the best policy.
Therefore, heal in truth.
Commemoration is authentically us.
The private, the personal, the honest have one major thing in
common: they all culminate to form us, our true selves. In commemoration, we
have an opportunity to be fully ourselves. Without distraction, potential
inauthenticity, noise, and pressure from others, we can connect with who we
are.
Commemoration can be whatever we decide it to be. It goes even
beyond the silent lighting of a candle. It is acknowledging the significance of
the pain, the loss, the death, the struggle. It is self-care. It is a real
moment and era in time for us. There is no one else’s feelings to protect.
There is no public image at stake. There is no expectation from “loves ones.”
Just us, by ourselves.
Celebration cannot give us that as fully. For, as wonderful as it
may be, its focus is outward, not inward.
Maybe, right now, what we need the most is inward.
Maybe, celebration is the last thing we need.
No matter how we may choose to experience this holiday season, may
we be truly ourselves in it, healing, experiencing the meaningful and
the authentic.
Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse
“Commemorate, If You Can’t Celebrate” explores how a quieter
approach may be best for us this holiday season.
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