after a christmas season filled with the activities of decorating, cookie baking, cocoa drinking and gift giving that was a much closer approximation to how i've celebrated the holiday in the past, i read a statement today that perfectly conveyed why i've pretty much always taken what some would see as a ridiculously extravagant approach to christmas.
the statement was in a book about the celebration of christmas in the southern region of our country, and it was contained within an essay in which a woman was sharing her own almost obsessive preparations for and activities during the holiday season. toward the end of her reflections, she makes the following conclusion:
and there it was in a nutshell. my christmas obsession wasn't about the holidays at all. it was about creating a space that felt like love. a magical, light-filled fantasy reflecting promise and hope and dreams we pray will come true.
and my reaction upon reading that was that it captured exactly my own motivations and desires for the results of my actions at this time of year. and while it was the perfect encapsulation of my raison d'être during the holidays, this profound statement also carried with it a bit of sadness.
sadness due to, firstly, the reminder of something i came to recognize slowly over time. because as much as i tried to make christmas a special time for the man i loved, this same man, with whom i spent a significant portion of my adult life, never seemed to remotely understand or appreciate what i was trying to accomplish, what i was trying to "gift" him out of gratitude for his being in my life.
the second part of the sadness is that now i am away from that man, but there is no one in my life with whom i can share this experience. it reminds me of that oft-repeated question about if sound exists from a tree falling in a forest without any witness of that action. if someone creates a space that feels like love, but there is no one to receive it, does it really matter at all that the effort was made?
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