I wasn’t raised to believe in Santa, although I must admit that it would have been fun to celebrate once a year with a portly, jolly, white-bearded man with whom I could share my wishes and who would give me an incentive to behave all year long. I never did get to reach into his bag to pull out a special gift, see his sleigh or pet his reindeer; nor did I get to sit on his lap to stroke his beard or get close enough to hear his “ho ho ho,” and leave with a feeling that I would be taken care of and forever admired.
I’m over it, I really am. And so far, I’ve gotten to this point, where everyone else in this so-called midlife has caught up to me, knowing full well that there is no Santa nor are there any cute and diminutive secret elves busy helping in his shop while we catch up on our beauty sleep.
So, who and what can we turn to when we are full of wishes and longing? What – and who – can take the place of a comfy lap, a welcome hug, a knowing grin, an understanding nature?
I think it’s time to turn to the gift of ourselves. After all, the years have taught us so much, and by now we can rely upon the things that age – not Santa or any facsimile of – has granted us: That kaleidoscope of collective wisdom, instinct, strength, perspective, power, empathy, compassion, fearlessness, creativity, happiness, courage, confidence, gentleness, understanding,and most important, continued good health.
And so, this holiday season – actually, all year long – I’m turning inward to gather up all the gifts I have, embrace them and unleash them to anyone who wants to receive them. They may not come complete with a tidy bow, but don’t let that glitzy wrapping paper fool you: It’s what inside that really counts.
Happy holidays to you all. Looking forward to seeing you in 2017!