On Santa and Christmas Traditions

Working in customer service has taught me that people get meaner during the holidays.

I’m almost positive that I’ve never taken a picture with Santa.  My parents didn’t really teach the Santa thing.  I don’t remember ever really believing, but maybe I stopped before my memories began.  I vaguely remember logical conversations with my dad about how Santa wouldn’t fit down our chimney, but I’m pretty sure I knew it was always pretty much a fairy tale.
We focused more on the original Christmas story.  Yes, we did the tree for most of my life, but we opened at least one gift on Christmas Eve, and as my brother and I got older, we started to follow my dad’s family tradition of opening all the gifts on Christmas Eve, which pretty much takes Santa out of the equation entirely.
Sometimes my mom would write “from Santa” on certain gifts, but we always knew it was from her, plus, those gifts were under the tree days, if not a couple weeks, before Christmas.  Thus, it was really hard to actually believe in Santa.  And that’s okay.  I don’t really feel like I missed out.

Every year since I can remember, apart from the random years we were spending the holidays out of town, my family has gone to a Christmas Eve service at the church I grew up in.  Even after I moved away and my parents stopped going to that church, we still went to the service.  It was tradition.  Afterward, my parents would drive around and look at Christmas lights.  As I got older, I kinda got over that tradition, and started going home to wait for them.
The four of us would gather in the living room and usually eat a dessert or something and then give gifts.  It was nice.  It was pretty anticlimactic.
This year, I’ll be away from family for the first time.  I’m okay with it, I’m not complaining.  It’s just different, like almost every aspect of my life in the south.  I was expecting to work on Christmas, like I usually do, but this year I have it off.  So I’m going to cook and spend the evening with one of my favorite people.  I’m going to drink champagne.  Maybe I’ll start a new tradition.

 

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In the In Between

Somewhere in the in between is where we’re living
Something  between friends and what comes next
Somewhere between secret adventures and just secrets

Terrified of the potential pain here
Between missed opportunity and committing too soon
Between the disappointment that comes with no and the publicity that comes with yes

In the privacy of these walls revelations happen
Between these sheets, new truths are told
And we’ll stay here, in between deception

Honesty and intimacy are holding hands now
Somehow finding safety in this insecurity
As we’ll live here, somewhere in the in between

Lost, But Not

Lost, but not
In a sea of commotion
Home is right around the corner
Just out of sight
Close your eyes
And you’ll find it

Excited at prospect
Impatient for time
Essence overtaking
Hands opening
Dropping all expectations

Artist spilling over
Out of the corner of your eye
Angels watching
What will she do next?
Touching the seams
Where heaven and earth collide
Feel it break

Interrupted in thought
Caught up
In whatever this is
Lost,
But not

Blogging Everyday in July|Is it Hopeless to be Romantic?

Someone asked me to blog about what it means to be a hopeless romantic.  Or maybe what I think the definition is.  Which is possibly one of those things that I can’t quite grasp, so I looked it up.  Google is telling me that a “hopeless romantic” is someone who loves love.  Someone who believes in happy endings.  Someone who wants a fairy tale.  Someone who won’t give up.  This makes me wonder, am I one?

I love love stories.  I love when my friends find their person.  It would be nice to have a person.  But currently, I’m enjoying discovering myself.  I don’t think I’m hopelessly romantic.  I don’t expect anyone to go over the top to chase me down or woo me over.  Life is not like the movies.  But whenever I get to hear a crazy story about something someone has done for the person they love, it makes me glad I’m alive.  Because I want a story.  I want an adventure.  But I want more than that.

Grand gestures probably exist.  But I think they’re rare in this day and age because people are so afraid of getting let down.  Most people spend so much time in the beginning of their relationship unsure if they’re actually in a relationship that they’re afraid to be romantic at all.  And I can’t think of anyone actually following through on anything romantic involving me.  That doesn’t mean that it’s something that belongs only in the movies though.

I think that by defining something as hopeless, we make it unreal.  We make it something that people are afraid to be a part of.  Why do a grand gesture to show how much someone means to you, how much you want to be with someone, if it’s hopeless?  Romance is not hopeless; at least it shouldn’t be.  It should just be romantic.

So maybe hopeless romantics don’t exist.  Because they’re all still hopeful.  Hopeful that the world will be a better place.  Hopeful that someone will love them back.  Hoping for a happy ending; or even better, no ending at all.

Running Away?

So I wonder if I’m running away
It’s something I’ve always dreamed of doing
But is this risk worth taking?
A daring leap of faith?

If that falls through
The cracks in the floor
I know where I’ll be
But is it something I should hope for?

Because what if this door is closed too?
What if I’m making the wrong decision?
Running away
With nothing to run to

Who I Am

Look me up
But not in a dictionary
Because Merriam Webster’s got nothing on me
I cannot be defined
I don’t fit into a mold
I’m not something you can fold
Up so neatly that I’ll fix in a box
And I’m going to stop hiding in my hole like a fox

I am gifted and growing
Like sprouts from a seed
That was planted in spring
I break through the soil
And I bloom

I am strong
Like an oak aged through many winters
I have weathered so many storms
Burned in a fire, the wood I shed will keep you warm
And I will live on

I am not broken, ripped, or torn
Nothing holds me down; I am not caught in any thorns
I am protected and so much more

I am becoming everything I am meant to be
I am freed
And as I declare this you may doubt me
You may say you know me
Because you’ve seen me in the dark
But my sun has risen
And though I remember the beauty of the starlight
It has changed me

My hope is where it should be
Anchored in a strong foundation
Ready to take part in this nation
I am a citizen

There is no persecution I deserve
Because my royal nature was not something I earned
But something I was born into
Yet my birthright will be ignored
Seen as entitlement
Remembered as poor

Still I will carry on
I will more than survive
I will thrive
Because I know what I am striving for

Inspiration

I keep looking for inspiration, but all I can think about is how I’m believing I’m mad at you, because I wish I felt nothing for you at all
You snuck up on me, with your best friend jokes and agreeing that I’m cute and that you’re glad I’m not a twig
Your definition of beauty is better than mine, I find, even though I still can’t quite trust it
I’m believing that I’m broken because I’d rather be that than nothing at all
But that is what I am to you, isn’t it? Nothing at all?
I don’t give out chances easily, and you used up your only one when you didn’t show up after you said that you would
But I’m wondering, did you even say you would?
I swear we had plans that you had forgotten, but your words must not be set in stone like mine are
I’ll stay away now, and soon I’ll be far gone, 3 weeks, forgotten
I don’t fall too easily, but definitely too quickly and I’m so used to picking myself up that I’ve forgotten what really falling feels like
I’ve forgotten what being caught feels like
I’ve forgotten what safety feels like, because I always wriggle my way out of any arms that hold me
I don’t expect your arms to hold me
And maybe I don’t even expect you to notice me, though I believed you already had
So maybe that’s where our problem is, that there isn’t any problem at all because there wasn’t any us to begin with
I could only hope
Because you had it all but one, with your fast car and fast music and fast jokes followed by a fast smile and a fast compliment, calling me an angel
If I’m an angel, than what are you?
My wings have been clipped and I can’t fly on my own, but I refuse to let you hold me down
Throwing my bag over my shoulder, my airplane gate is calling
I’m in the sky with this goodbye