November 1? You mean, Christmas the First?

I’m writing this essay on Christmas the Third, also known as November 3rd. Last night, my spouse and I hung our stockings on the mantle, packed away our Halloween decorations and brought out some winter ones (and left the Thanksgiving-appropriate decor -- we love ham and deviled eggs around here, after all), and spent $50 at Target on more Christmas items. We love Christmas. And I decided that this year, I was done waiting until after Thanksgiving for Christmas cheer. I wanted 2 months of Christmas, and made it so. 

It’s very on trend to hate Christmas and love Halloween now. If you’re not like other girls, you probably think that you uniquely enjoy scary movies and horror, even though women have driven true crime podcasts, movies, and shows into the stratosphere in the last ten years, including the true-true crime fascination with ongoing murder investigations of (usually) young white women that permeate Tik Tok, Twitter, and any other corner of the internet. Engaging in the once-subversive -- tarot cards, Ouiji boards, smudging, and the like -- is a giant, mainstream industry that everyone thinks they’re very special for enjoying. 

Anyway, apparently it’s also subversive to hate Christmas decor and Christmas time and Christmas spirit, cheugy even, or to like them too much. Enjoying the Christmas holiday needs to be embarrassing, or at least ironic, lest you show sincerity while enjoying a mainstream, cheesy season.

And here I want to delineate disliking the commercialization of a holiday to ubiquitous levels of constant carol playing in Macy’s for two months from more serious critiques of America's relationship with the holiday. The default assumption of shared Christianity, real and long-lasting trauma and reminders surrounding the holiday season, and the pressure to overspend and overpromise one’s material and emotional energy in the name of family, religion, and tradition all rub me the wrong way, too. I am not defending Christmas from an imaginary war, nor do I care if other people decorate their homes, give gifts, make gingerbread houses, or otherwise be merry in the final months of 2021. 

But if I don’t care, I would also like it if other people didn’t care, too. And I mean that wholeheartedly. Stop caring about what other people do inside their homes, you absolute weirdos. 

I have been marathoning changes in my life since March 2020. I moved in with my spouse, moved across the state, changed jobs, got married, stopped writing poetry, recentered my life around finding contentment (a sort of late-onset quarter-life crisis, that one specifically), not to mention the changes my spouse has gone through while graduating and starting their career. Living with the constant hum of anxiety of contracting COVID-19, we both went out into the world to do our jobs in person, leaving us without very little risk acceptance left for family or friends until we were fully vaccinated (and again, with Delta, the rug pulled out again, back to masks and no contact other than work for a few months). Last year, we spent the entire Christmas holiday alone, save for one outdoor hour with my parents. 

In short, I have had one hell of an almost-two-years. We all have. And if putting up my silly Christmas figurines and hanging stockings on November 2nd offends you, then I truly think you should read the news for four minutes and find something else to be mad it. Surely, it’s not too hard. 

Any given year, the holiday season can make folks feel all types of ways. Formulaic Hallmark Christmas movies have comforting beats and expected character arcs. Childhood classics can bring back nostalgia or work in a reparenting plan to soothe our inner child. Foods that we don’t crave year-round should be enjoyed more than a couple weeks a year, and I’m sure the turkey on the table won’t be offended by a snowman decoration nearby. I’ll be listening to Christmas carols, slowly unpacking our decorations, making gingerbread houses, and snuggling in with blankets and tea for those nights that start at 5:45 these days to watch some old classics for the next 8 weeks, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. 

In short, embracing the Christmas spirit too early is making me happy instead of rushing to “fit” all that cheer into just a few weeks. And if we need anything this year, it’s maybe a little more cheer.