Getting Through the Holidays: The Gap Between Norman Rockwell and Real Life

It's 5:30 in the morning. The dog and I are awake. I've been up since 2:30. There's this sense of relief that Christmas is over—I made it through another holiday season.

I don't know about you, but I slip into a funk sometime before Thanksgiving and don't really shake it until after my birthday in January. I'm sure I'm not alone in this. Each year, I hope it will be different. What I'm really hoping for is some Norman Rockwell moment—everything perfect, family gathered around the table, everyone laughing and genuinely enjoying each other.

To be honest, this has never been my reality. Yet each year, hope persists.

This year I tried something different: I worked on not being disappointed, on just being present with what is. I still did all the things—cooked the meals, decorated, sent cards, the whole production. There's so much emotion wrapped up in these holiday traditions. Or maybe what I mean is holiday expectations, which often lead straight to disappointment.

So what did I do?

I experimented  with releasing expectations. Do what you're going to do during the holidays and see what happens—without the weight of how it "should" be.

I have a friend in a similar season of life. She and her husband are empty nesters; their only child went off to college. I was single most of my life, only getting married four years ago. I never had children. My husband has adult children living their own lives. Last year, she and I started getting together to bake and decorate Christmas cookies. We did it again this year, and I realized I actually look forward to it. It's genuinely fun. This year my husband even joined us to decorate.

What I  discovered is that we're all just getting through the holidays. I'm not alone in this.

I had to do some last-minute grocery shopping on Christmas Eve (don't judge). As I was heading back to my car, I saw two men helping a woman get to hers. She had tears streaming down her face and was gasping for air. Since her car was parked next to mine, I asked if she was okay.

She wasn't. She'd had an asthma attack in the store and just wanted to get home for her breathing treatment. She lived a few blocks away but needed groceries for an elderly aunt. I helped her find her inhaler in her purse, stood outside her car, held her hand and said, "Let's breathe together."

It was my opportunity to slow down and remember what actually matters during the holidays—not the shit I'd been fixating on.

She finally felt better. I had to get home, so I left her with a Safeway employee who'd come out to check on her. I gave her a hug, wished her a Merry Christmas, and told her she wasn't alone (which, honestly, was more for me than for her).

Then I went home to my husband, who was sitting at the dining room table happily decorating Christmas cookies.

We are not alone.  You never know who is struggling, some of us mask it better.  I’m hopeful for this new year practicing new rhythms, new traditions and new experiences.  Who’s with me?