I've never been in the habit of embracing the Christmas spirit. This isn't because I'm Jewish and resent how fun Christmas looks. Yes, it has its own songs, its own foods, and a slew of pop culture characters, films, and holiday specials. We, in the Jewish faith, have all (ok, some) of that too. It's not even because as a kid I was even more cynical than I am now and I would watch TV and wonder why every commercial, jingle, and sale were directed at those celebrating Christmas. This has grown to be a bit more politically correct over the years (Macy's Holiday Sale) and, as an almost-grownup, I don't really think people don't want me around because I don't put my presents under a tree.
The true reason why I've refrained from indulging in eggnog, lights, and mistletoe is holiday shopping. There is nothing about this concept that I understand. Like any normal human being, I like presents. Creating a list of things that you want and not having the responsibility of getting them for yourself is probably the most pleasant thing I can imagine. But the chaos that ensues from this concept is just too much. With Thanksgiving right around the corner, I have tried to mentally prepare myself for the next 33 days.
Every year, between the third Thursday in November and the day my family eats Chinese food and watches movies, I lose all faith in the ability to go into and come out of a store in under an hour. These are the 33 days where buying toilet paper turns into a marathon event. Where I opt to find something else to eat to avoid going to the store to buy milk for cereal. Where, by the end of the month, I have read EVERY magazine on the shelf (for free!) while I wait in line to check out. Find me a store where I don't have to suffer these consequences and I'll buy you all the presents you want.
Forget the lines, the empty shelves, and the jam-packed parking lots because what may be worse than all of this is the length of time this holiday-shopping business is being rubbed in our faces and robbing our wallets. In my short, though nonetheless cynical, life, I have come to terms with the fact that right as the calendar rips away my favorite holiday full of parades, pajamas, and pies, stores and homes string up lights and Christmas music blast through every speaker from here to California. And, by the way, there are only so many of Christmas songs. Just because every musician to ever sell an album has recorded their own version of "Jingle Bell Rock" or "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," that does not mean I want to hear them all. In succession.
I promise, I'm not all Grinch- and Scrooge-like. This time of the year has its redeeming qualities. Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" may be one of my favorite songs of all time. Sales are great. Knowing that whenever I go into a store most things will be on sale is something I really look forward too. Although, I do get a bit paranoid this time of year because I just know that when I finally commit to buying something, next week its going to be even cheaper. (Do not get me started on what is known in my family as the Camera Saga of 2011.)
And, I've tried to find the Christmas Spirit within myself. Two years ago, I made it a point to search for the spirit. My roommates and I threw a holiday party - I made decorations, we had peppermint and wrapping paper. We exchanged gifts - I got a Christmas mug and toe socks and I don't think it gets more Christmas than that. Each year, I succumb a bit more to the Christmas fury. In 10 years I'm sure you'll find me in line at 6 a.m. on Thanksgiving day waiting for the best deals so I can buy EVERYONE I know a Christmas gift.
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