Open ONLY if you’re ready for the truth…
I found out there was no Santa Claus a few days after Christmas, when I was sneaking through my mother’s closet.
I suppose she was at work and my father was in the garage because I dragged a chair to the door of her wardrobe to reach the top shelf where, a year or two prior, I had discovered she kept unwrapped gifts.
The routine was, on Christmas Eve, I got presents from my parents. On Christmas Day, I got Santa’s donation. My overactive mind had been working furiously since the 25th, wondering if there was still a chance that my mom had forgotten to give me anything. Maybe an extra Barbie was collecting dust in there, waiting for me to find her. Who better to investigate but me?
Thankfully I had the good sense to do this after Christmas, as little did I know, as I carefully and quietly stepped my tiny frame onto the rickety chair, hoisted myself up, outstretched my arms to the tippity-top of the closet, that I had just lived my final holiday in the warm magic that is Santa Claus.
Instead of overlooked trinkets, I found wrapping paper.
THE wrapping paper.
The wrapping paper that only Santa used. How in the hell did it get into my mom’s closet?!
Unless...
The truth was almost too much to bear. After I dragged the chair back to its proper spot, I carefully smoothed out any markings it made on the carpet. (In hindsight, this was a total waste of time.)
I kept the wrapping paper in my room until my mother returned that evening. I needed to confront her. When I heard her car roll up in the driveway and the hinges on the front door shriek as she opened it, I grabbed the roll of paper, hid it behind my back, and stomped down the stairs in a calm fury.
Needless to say, Christmas was never quite the same after that. The initial shock that there would be no reindeer sightings shifted to an appreciation for ritual. Like lasagna on Christmas Eve and watching A Christmas Story on Christmas Day.
Even now, I love rituals.
My current favorites are:
A face massage before bed
Friday nights in with my cat watching Netflix with red wine and a giant delicious salad ( here’s a free recipe)
Sunday night scheduling sessions, where I plan out my week in an actual notebook with a pencil
Sometimes the rituals get in the way of my life, so I started asking myself — is my commitment to my ritual keeping me from doing other things I want to do?
I’m surprised at how often the answer is yes.
Which means you’ll find me actively trying to be more flexible from now on. Including with my love letters. New schedules, new content, maybe even a new look.
That’s all I’ll say for now, as it’s Friday and I need to buy stuff for my big delicious salad.
With love,
Bethany
