*Editor’s Note: This was an assignment for English 220: Introduction to Creative Writing. Our task was to write a creative non-fiction essay. I chose to write a cultural reflection essay on Christmas Stereotypes.

Christmas Stereotypes Lie

I’m going to convince you why you shouldn’t care, by telling you why I don’t.

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Here’s to Falalala. To Ho ho ho. To Merry Christmas. 

And because of the obligated cultural inclusion in our steadily filtered society, happy Hanukkah and Feliz Navidad. 

And whatever people say during Kwanza… a holiday I know nothing about except that it’s African… (except I just Googled it and it’s not… exactly, it’s actually in celebration of African-American culture, history, and tradition. And before you get mad at me for not knowing that, the only reason I knew it was a holiday to begin with was that the public school teachers at my elementary school were forced to give an ‘international holidays’ presentation and everyone just made fun of the holiday for being fun to say with a Southern accent. Try it, 10 year old me wasn’t wrong.)

And I don’t mean to slander those cultural experiences. Really, I don’t. It’s great that we finally recognize all the holidays from all over the world. My point, is rather, this: When someone asks you about the month of December, do you really think of Kwanza? Christmas is always the first (or maybe second) thing you think of. 

Bows, snow, bags, and tags, Dr. Seuss isn’t alone in turning this time of year into rhythm and rhyme that lulls us into consumerism and picturesque realities we’ll never actually experience. 

Don’t get me wrong- I love Christmas, I do! I stare at the poster at Hobby Lobby of the snow-covered cabin and vintage trucks carrying Christmas trees, for hours. It is far more appealing than the frozen, bitter winds that sweep across dry prairies and dead plants for Kansas’ Christmas, but I think there’s more to this time of year than what meets the eye. 

More than the rows and rows of green, red, and gold, more than the sugar highs and the Christmas lists longer than my list of bad dates, this time of year is special for a reason. The picturesque stereotypes. 

When I (and many others) think of Christmas, we don’t think of icy streets or fighting relatives or the weather that is 9 times out of 10- not a white Christmas. We think of snow. Of a forest. Of a cabin with a fire and stockings that match the ornaments on the tree. We think of a time when life is easy and peaceful. Sitting in a large comfortable chair, warm and surrounded by loved ones. Laughing and relaxing as the snow softly falls outside and the full moon lightens up the bitter cold night. Where we are… free. 

Free from our jobs, our schools, our lifestyles that keep us trapped inside hard work and dedication. Don’t get me wrong, most of us choose to be in those positions. We choose to work hard and to give up our free time for money, and security, and an exciting lifestyle. But during Christmas is when we actually get to take a break. We get to step back and look at the world, not as a machine, but as an oasis. 

Except, it’s not. 

Christmas is actually where everything doubles in complexity. We work twice as hard at work or school trying to get things done. We spend twice as much money on gifts and clothes and food. We have twice as little free time organizing family visits and working around everyone’s individual schedule. 

And how many of us actually spend Christmas in a mountain cabin? How many of us actually want to? 

But as you’re reading this, don’t pretend you’ve never dreamt of it. Not necessarily a cabin or a fire, but of the perfect Christmas moment. Maybe you’re on the beach, or in Paris. Maybe you’re at your grandmother’s old house, or with your aunt before she became an alcoholic. Whoever you’re with, wherever you are, and whatever you see, we dream of the perfect Christmas. And, gosh, companies know how to capitalize on that. 

They paint us pictures, write us cards, sew us clothes and give us music and movies that paint that reality out for us. They want us to look for that escapism in everything that we do- because we all look for it, and they all make money from it. 

But honestly, I don’t care that they do. I don’t care that the food I’m buying costs twice as much. I don’t care that the card game I’m after is twice as hard to get because it sells out. I don’t care that my planner involves twice as many people, and twice as many parties, and twice as much chaos. 

Perhaps I’m insane, having been driven nuts from the repetition of Jingle Bells and the scent of gingerbread (who actually eats gingerbread?). Perhaps I’m blinded by the snowflake glitter that covers, well, everything. But maybe I’m looking past it because of what it means to me. 

I’m not talking about the ‘real meaning of Christmas’ trope that’s been drilled into our head more effectively than our multiplication tables were. 

I mean my version of Christmas- what I dream of when I think of that time of year. 

I was born and raised in Colorado. My family had a run-down, on the fritz, hand-built cabin from the 50’s that we used for years. If you woke up one day and couldn’t tell what season it was, all you had to do to figure it out was make bacon. In the winter, the bacon grease slid to the left side of the pan, but as the ground melted and mud season began in the spring, the entire floor (and everything resting upon it) would slide and move with the earth. Thus, in the summer, the bacon grease slid to the right side of the pan. That’s what I mean by hand-built. The whole thing was a Jenga tower one move away from Jenga-ing. 

One year my family did Christmas at the cabin. We even hiked up the mountain and cut a tree down from our neighbor’s property (accidentally, of course – the property line was buried under the snow). I love the mountains. I love the snow. And I love the feeling of peace in a cabin, with the howling wind being shut out from all the joy on the inside. 

And if I could, I would do anything to freeze those moments in time. To ball them up tightly, shove them in a snow globe and never let them leave. To be peaceful. Simply, peaceful. And that’s why that Hobby Lobby poster of a vintage truck with a pine tree resonates with me so much. Because in that picture, everything looks so simple. And calm. And true. 

The only complications are which ornaments to hang, the only arguments over who gets the fresh Christmas cookies first. And as I look at that, with the people rushing around me, I dream that the world slows. And that me and my loved ones, my friends, family, lover, and anyone else, are truly happy. And we can be happy before there were cars, or cities, or stock markets or corporate deadlines and schedules that complicate everything and make it impossible to ever really get away from it.

The ‘old days’ always seem more simple than nowadays. 

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I know it’s not really going to ever be that way. There’s no way that one uncle of mine would ever have a peaceful conversation with some of my friends- let alone be in the same room with them. But I can dream. 

It also means that when I do get those moments of peace during the holidays, they mean twice as much. I can stop for a second. I can just look at the world around me. Whoever I’m with will carry on their task, wherever I am will still have activities going on, and whatever I see won’t stop moving. But I will. And I can take it in and see it as it is. It may not be complete and simple peace, but it’s joy. It is joy in whatever form I can get it.

That’s what Christmas helps me do. It helps me look at the joy around me and take it in. And I know that that’s a big stereotype, but it’s true for me. It’s about joy. I buy more food so our bellies will be full. I buy more gifts so I can give joy to people after I’ve headed back to my regularly scheduled activities. I work twice as hard so that I can give myself a little more joy than normal. 

So here’s to what really matters. Let me raise a glass of overpriced eggnog that I don’t really like, to that version of Christmas. To the subject of every Hallmark movie, and every card that expresses what Christmas is really about. Here’s to the joy that we sometimes have to pretend to find, and to the joy that we remember when we look back at that same moment. 

Here’s to Falalala. To Ho ho ho. To Merry Christmas. To Happy Hannakkah, and Feliz Navidad, to whatever they say for Kwanza, and for every other holiday that brings people joy. 

Christmas stereotypes, they lie. 

Most of the time.

Except…

Except for the one time, they don’t. When they actually happen to you. 

And when they do, will you still care about all the rest of the madness? Or will you take it for what it is, and leave it for what it will be when you look back?