Holiday Guilt

The holidays are over, and I'm a little glad. I love all the anticipation and the sense of celebration that pervades everyday life around the holiday season - cookies in the lunchroom for no particular reason, decorations all over town, people smiling at one another more than usual. But somehow it seemed like too much this year. I couldn't wait for the feast to be over so I could get into fasting mode.

Sometimes I feel terrifically guilty about Christmas. This year, we're supposed to be saving money for a house, but instead, we spent lots of money on gifts that maybe weren't exactly what people wanted. And got in return, lots of things that were thoughtfully chosen for us, that we didn't particularly want or need. Not wanting or not being able to properly appreciate a gift from a loved one feels somehow like I'm rejecting the person, or the affection they were trying to express. I don't mean to - I want to appreciate everything, and I always appreciate the thought that went into a gift. But sometimes I just don't need another electronic gadget. Or another box of tea, or a beautiful ornament to sit on a shelf somewhere. I would rather spend an afternoon in the park with my family than have any gifts at all.

When we got back to our apartment after everything was over, and I started trying to find places to put all the new things (when already the apartment is crowded and cluttered with things that we just don't have room for), I felt like crying. All this stuff was supposed to make me happy. I think overlaid on the guilt that it doesn't, is the wretched feeling of duplicity because of course I acted excited about each new thing, and thanked the giver, and came up with reasons why the gift was perfect, just right, etc. It's such an emotionally complicated time of year.

I think Christmastime is sort of a magnification and extension of the year-round guilt I feel about my father. I always feel that I should be doing more for him, spending more time with him, etc. He's very sensitive to rejection, more so than most people, and he puts a lot of time and energy into doing these wonderfully thoughtful things for me.

When I was a kid, for instance, every year for my birthday he would design a treasure hunt. The hunts got more and more complex and amazing as I grew older, incorporating ciphers and things I had learned at school that year, and I would usually invite a gang of friends over to help and it would be an all-day adventure. We'd race up and down the stairs, to the top of the yard and back, searching for the next clue in a frenzy of excitement. I remember those hunts with the same rush of joy as I recall Christmases of my childhood, when I was at a peak of happiness pretty much all day long. But as I got older, somehow the hunts stopped being as much fun. My friends were growing up too and weren't as interested in participating. A couple of years, I couldn't get anyone to come over, and walking around by myself tracking down clues seemed kind of sad. I also started feeling that the obligation to appreciate the cleverness of the puzzles was outweighing the pleasure I got from solving them. But I didn't know how to tell my dad that he didn't have to keep making me treasure hunts each year. Once or twice I hinted that maybe I was outgrowing them, but then he would get kind of quiet and I could tell he was sad that I didn't enjoy the hunts he put so much love into. Finally last year, there was no hunt, and I was secretly relieved. Why is it that when you say, "I don't love this thing, but I still love YOU," people tend to only hear the first part of the sentence?

I've been thinking more about my dad lately because he's at kind of a low point. He doesn't have a job or friends really, or anything going on in his life that he can put his energy into. He's one of the most intelligent people I've ever known, and to see his talent and potential going to waste is hard. I'm afraid he is depressed, and I don't know how to lift him out of it. From time to time I try to get him involved in new things, and he always really tries - actually he tries too hard. He sinks so much energy into things that he burns out. He can't just enjoy trying a new skill, he has to get really good at it, or else "fail" and feel miserable. New people aren't just acquaintances that he can get to know better, they're instant friends whose unintentional rebuffs or preoccupation wound him. I don't know how to get him to relax. In the meantime, he's lonely and sad, and the things that work for my mom (church) and me (work and friends) to keep us involved with the world aren't there for him.