Season of Joy

Season of Sadness

“You were the one who taught me,' he said. 'I never looked at you without seeing the sweetness of the way the world goes together, or without the sorrow of its spoiling. I became a hero to serve you, and all that is like you.”

Peter S. Beagle (The Last Unicorn)

Many of us leave this season of Joy with a residue of sadness. The whole premise of Christmas is to celebrate entry into the world of the divine light of the Christ Child. We typically do this by gathering together people who love one another by virtue of their shared kinship. It is meant to be an occasion of generosity, loving spirit and renewal. But for some of us, this year, like many others, it is not any of that. Some of us have had a difficult year, a year of loss, and it's hard to pump up the happy feelings, even when we are surrounded by lights and tinsel and merry-making. You don't have to be a refugee to be sad at Christmas.

Regardless of our religion, or lack thereof, we all have a shared vision of “peace on Earth, good will toward man;” an idealized version of how sweet the world could be. When it isn't—and it never is—we feel the great sorrow that the unicorn speaks of in the quote above. These last few weeks, we may have gone through the routine of merriment and excitement, of decorating the tree, wrapping the presents, but there's a core of sadness inside us composed of all the losses we've experienced in our lives. That core is somehow triggered by this season of joy. If you feel it, you are not alone.

I have no great words of wisdom here. There is no quick and easy fix. The best we can do is to be gentle with ourselves, hold fast to the people who bring us joy, and remember that the season will pass. Regular life will return. Being with our sadness, rather than anesthetizing it away, is a very good idea. Consider this temporary sorrow to be the deep colors—the dark blues, forest greens, and warm grays—in the tapestry of life. They are not intended to be morbid, but to give definition to the lighter colors, and to the brighter days.

                                                           In the Spirit,

                                                               Jane