One night mid-December Scott walked in the kitchen to find me shakily magnet-ing Christmas Cards onto the fridge, a single tear shining down my cheek. “Are you…ok?” he asked. I was not. People were too happy in their dumb Christmas cards.
He looked down at the stack waiting on the counter, thumbing through them to find the sadness perhaps only the two of us could see in so many smiling children. And then he threw them in the trash.
But! I protested. Those are our people! They belong on our fridge!
Except they really don’t, not this year.
It’s funny because I’m the one doing all the yoga, the one teaching yoga and telling my classes to “let go of what doesn’t serve them.” I’d even gone through the internal debate as I opened each festive envelope, surprised as each drew me closer to tears, thinking, should I stop opening these?
But of course I didn’t. Instead I decided to give them a permanent spot on the fridge, where they could make me miserable breakfast, lunch, and dinner!
It’s just that I’ve loved this tradition since I was a little girl, when Mom would tape our massive pile of Christmas Cards on the side wall of our kitchen, filling it top to bottom. I have loved hearing from friends since I’ve moved away, seeing their families grow.
I’ve always loved Christmas Cards, but they no longer serve me.
Thanks to Scott, they’re in the trash.