To those of you who celebrate Christmas, we made it. The December marathon has reached its peak. Whatever you haven’t done is likely going to have to wait til 2023 now.  

Phew. No, seriously, phew. 

Was it fun? Are you having fun now? For many, the answer is a resounding “no.”   

Chantal Kreviazuk emphasized this in a pre-concert message she posted on social media on December 15. That day, if you recall, was a snowy/slushy mess in the GTA. Kreviazuk, a singer/songwriter/pianist, and her husband, Raine Maida, front-man for ‘90s group, Our Lady Peace, were performing at the Richmond Hill Performing Arts Centre. Whether the concert was going to be cancelled for weather was high on the minds of those of us who had tickets. She posted a message assuring us they were proceeding with the show but also reminding us that not everyone loves the holidays. 

Kreviazuk began her video message with with “top of the season to you - but also there can be a bottom of the season for a lot of people.” She went on to talk about the emotional and mental toll the holidays can put on folks, that we should be kind to ourselves and to each other and not expect everyone around us to feel positive about the season. 

Despite it being a mere 10 days before Christmas, the concert was delightfully free from mentions of the season - not in the musical selections nor the inter-song banter, no Santa hats on the ushers, no tree on stage, not even a mention from the opening act. Nothing.  Such a balm to the senses after the December bombardment of Mariah Carey, ads for bargains, overloaded trees, and inflatable Santas. (Want to read about those? Check out one of last year’s Christmas posts here.)  

I don’t know how I ended up being the Scrooge I am. My childhood Christmases were low-key - boring, even - but not horrible. We were not surrounded by extended family - my parents both immigrated to Canada alone - but we gathered as a nuclear family on the farm for traditional turkey and lots of carolling and instrument-playing, and of course, listening to the Queen’s message on CBC radio, the midday highlight (kidding - sort of). (If you’re interested in my recollection of the gift-opening part of our Christmas Days, click here.)  

As I moved into my 30s and 40s, I found myself in other places at Christmas as a close friend moved around the globe giving me the chance to visit him. First, Vancouver, then Australia, Seattle, London, Prague, Italy - all excellent Christmases in their own way with good company and great food and drink.  For a particularly memorable Christmas story, check out my story from Australia 2004.  

Through the Jack years, he and I hosted Wigilia, a Polish Christmas Eve celebration. For me, those evenings were all about fish and mushrooms, things I could comfortably worship alongside my Catholic in-laws; my goal was pulling off a series of 12 courses that would satisfy the Canadianized tastes of Jack’s kids and grandkids but also the very traditional Polish palate of his aunt and uncle - a very tricky line to walk as a very Canadian cook! And fun. Definitely fun. 

But it’s been decades since I’ve had that strong urge to party in the presence of many or go on a buying frenzy at this time of year. There are things I love about Christmas: hearing Al Maitland read the Gift of the Magi and The Shepherd on CBC’s “As it Happens;” waiting for the opening bars of the Alleluia to emerge at the end of Handel’s Messiah; watching Prime Minister Hugh Grant fall slowly in love with his staff person in “Love Actually,” and more recently, seeing that row of inflatable Santas on Inglewood Street in downtown Toronto.  Through the high pandemic years, I’d convinced myself that I was an introvert (hello, I’m not) but even as an extravert I’m content not to immerse myself in the social hurly-burly of the season.  

I’ve just never been a fan of forced fun. You can ask the people at the one camp I went to in high school (year-book camp, yes, I was that nerdy) or those who tried to corral me in frosh week at university - I’m not easily roped into others’ merriment. Neither the calendar nor anything else external to me will tell me when to be happy. Christmas just seems like that - a time for required joviality whether or not you feel like it. 

So the challenge I make to you today - consider not posting on social media how marvellous your day is going. Or better yet, post the less-than-perfect dinner you made; the gift you gave that was an ‘epic fail;’ the faces you have at your table, each person’s glumness reflecting the fact they can think of five places they’d rather be; the verbal sparring you had with your uncle which aired the considerable difference of opinion you have about the climate crisis; the clash you experienced about COVID precautions with your niece.  Share it all! Don’t hold back. Help us all see the full range of holiday “cheer.” Kreviazuk has it right - it’s not the top of the season for everyone. (that said, here are some holiday photos from previous Christmases)

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