Remember when Notre Dame was on fire and everyone started sharing pictures of their vacations in Paris? At first, it was like, “Oh wow!” and then it turned into a well-traveled humble brag of support.
I kind of felt that way this Christmas as I saw post after post after post of immaculately decorated Christmas trees packed with presents underneath. My Christmas-loving gut went, “Oh wow!” and then my empathy for those who have nothing and might’ve seen these things kicked in. How does the Insta-perfect crow of a full holiday impact those living without?
Then, brags and crows aside, so quickly these things holding a moment of importance worth sharing trickle from our vision, they become less important until the passing of time revives them and, once again, we immerse ourselves in the support, the celebration, the thrill—without ever locking in on the story being told around us.
Christmas is one of those stories continuously being told. Within families. Within cultures. Within religion. It might be why I hold on to it for as long as possible* and why I feel a little** sad when I see trees curbside and bare corners in houses.
*Yes, the house is still decorated.
**A lot
But I know for every trashed tree and empty living room corner, there are thousands of stories echoing in time, stories waiting to come alive again when a family is gathered or when the smallest, strangest thing sparks a memory.
There’s something sacred I think, to being reserved in sharing the happenings of our lives. To those who are, not to overuse a 2024 word, mindful. To not needing the photo, but instead the recall of the memory. The story. The event. Keeping a moment alive by the story we keep within us, instead of the molded photo we share.
Our curated photos tell a story, but it is fantasy longing for a narrator. Even those of us who don’t believe ourselves to be storytellers have moments which beg to be captioned.
And I promise, I am not anti-pictures or anti-Instagram or anti-sharing. I think I am just longing for something better than photo dumps on social media. I’m wishing our world valued written words and spoken stories as much as it values edited images.
In 2025, it’s my plan to mindfully select the stories I tell—and to follow through on telling them.
Here is the story I want to tell of Christmas 2024: It was one of my best Christmases in a long time. In a sentence, it was full of all the things that make Christmas special: togetherness, family, friends, love, laughter, relaxation, and remembrance. I’m grateful to have these things.
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