Merry Christmas

Mood: sad, reflective, hopeful

 I sent out Christmas cards this year.  In April.  They were very clearly Christmas cards, with a winter-themed card and a hope for a bright 2021, but they weren't mailed in December, or even January.  I had big, big plans for my 2020 Christmas cards.  2020 had been what it was, and I could make everyone forget that for a moment with a beautiful Christmas card.  I got special pens and stamps from the stationary store, I had a long address list, the longest I'd ever had, and a grand plan to handwrite a Christmas letter worthy of keeping for years to come.  But, I didn't handwrite letters.  I shortened my long address list, by a lot.  I sent out pre-messaged cards and letters with a quick greeting.  They sat in a pile for a few weeks, because I was so embarrassed that I couldn't get this most simple and unimportant task done in the window I was supposed to.  And then I put them in the mailbox.

I find it necessary to quickly share my philosophy for my social media, which I'm sure sounds deeply interesting and not at all absolutely unimportant.  But, I generally work hard to put things out that are positive, if not just gently neutral.  I think we often have enough bad of our own, so I'd rather not add my own to the pile.  Especially in the pandemic year we've had, haven't we had enough?  Haven't we hurt enough, cried enough, sympathized enough?  And so I try to put things out that are comfortable, or interesting, or beautiful.

I bring it up because I find that where I fail most in that philosophy is this blog.  Of course, when I wrote these posts, I did it under the auspices of being "honest" or "vulnerable," with the presumed goal of inspiring or helping others.  However, I know that wasn't really the case, because I hadn't prepared to take on the continuing vulnerability and honesty when people reached out about those posts.  Trauma dumping and vulnerability are not synonymous, and I think I often leaned towards the former.

In saying all of that, I'm making a small change to my blog posts.  Content warnings have become more and more prevalent online, giving people the opportunity to move on if they're not looking to interact with content involving certain topics.  I'd like to do something in that same vein here, which I'm going to call a mood warning.  Really, just two or three words at the start of each post so you can decide if you're in the mood for something sad or peaceful or heartbreaking or joyful.  Maybe you can come back to that post when you're feeling differently, or maybe you can feel content in just not coming back to it at all.  You probably noticed the very first mood warning at the top of this post, and hopefully the context is helpful.

2020 was a terrible year, not only for the world, but for me personally.  Because of that, I've been forced to treat myself so much more gently and preciously.  I'm hoping that as I keep healing and growing, I can offer something healing and soothing into the world.  And so I sent my Christmas cards out in April, because hopefully good wishes made sincerely don't expire.

PS: Thank you for reading this post.  I have never been more hesitant to write, even from paragraph to paragraph and sentence to sentence.  Recently, I was struck by the thought that I don't know if I love to write or if I just love the way reading great writing makes me feel.  I'm searching for what I can add to a world already full to bursting of beautiful and thoughtful writing, and I'm not sure if there is anything.  I still am so grateful for your company here as I keep trying to figure it out.