The Original Anti-Holiday Card
Reposted from December 2020
It’s no secret to people who know me — I love my end of the year holiday cards. In fact, this year I sent out 350 (scented) cards. I have a 15-step process that I start in October, and yes, I’m already planning 2021. Mostly, it’s my way of taking some time to think about all the fine people I have in my life, those who came into my life that year and those who maybe I didn’t connect with as deeply as previous years. Still, I love sharing the adventures of the past 12 months, and since I’ve found myself posting much less personal news on social media — the card is my way of giving the “wrap-up.”
But as one of my friends told me this year, it can read a little bit like a resumé — which is the polite way of saying it’s a list of me telling all my friends how wonderful my life is and all the things I accomplished the past year (he actually was refreshingly blunt here — I don’t need your impressive Christmas resume to depress me, Mags…I get it. You did 800 things and admitted to 13 boards and fellowships and writing books…You won 2020). This is annoying in normal times, but in 2020, it’s a whole new level of obnoxious, even tone-deaf and potentially even damaging.
The annual holiday card is also borderline bullshit — it’s all true, but it’s not the whole truth, it’s the highlight reel and it’s unfair to only share the highs without the lows. This idea of the complete truth isn’t a new concept, lots of people are making effort to reveals the story behind the social, but not nearly enough in my opinion. So, I’m doing my part, here I present to you — internet and friends — the low points too. The full race report.
On a personal level, this year was pretty great overall, much of which comes from dumb luck, but certainly also from a system and society that inoculates people like me (upper middle-class, straight, over-educated extroverted white lady) from a great deal. And yes, also because I work hard and have marketable skills — but this discussion of work or luck isn’t the point of this post.
COVID Maggie
The point here is to be honest about the personal missteps of 2020, take this photo of me for example — taken some time in March-May, likely around noon as I’m still in my house robe (but I guess that’s not really a strong indicator of anything), drinking a glass of rose and eating a tortilla and stick of cheese like a stray raccoon. It was one moment of a string of moments just like it — sleeping, drinking, eating, and watching Netflix. So much Netflix. Maybe this was the same day I slept in my van in my driveway because I had a huge fight with my partner — “Oh yeah! Well the fucking van is mine!”
Or maybe it was the same day that I stayed up until 4am watching a television series I had seen at least three times previously. Maybe it was the day I blew off a writing project, yet again because I just didn’t want to do the work. Who knows, there were a number of those days. Perhaps it was taken just hours before I made fancy SVU-themed cocktails (the most productive thing I did during that time) or on the day I was supposed to graduate from Mizzou, but didn’t because I didn’t complete my thesis as planned. The rosé tells me it was after a weekly run to the local liquor store to spend entirely too much money on canned bubbly. It was certainly before I reached out to my therapist and asked for help with my complete lack of motivation (pro tip — it worked).
But the point is — Christmas cards and social media and really most “catch up conversations” are the highlights of my year, of my life, of all our lives. They don’t show the low points, because those are embarrassing (and honestly, confessions can be brought up as evidence). They certainly don’t show the mundane, boring, and altogether unremarkable hours that make up the majority of life. The best we can do is flow between all our moments, working on making more of the “good” ones, learning from the bad ones, and just moving through all the rest, never holding on too tightly to any of them.
And if we’re making resolutions (which, I mean if ever we skip a year, this one feels like the one) let’s resolve to not compare too much. To each other or even to ourselves. Pour another glass of wine and roll up that tortilla — hell go for the burrito size.
We’ll get it together when we’re ready.