Day 21 – A Sensitive Cynic’s Christmas Survival Guide.
We humans seem to really get hooked on traditions, rituals and ceremonies.
We just can’t seem to get enough of it all.
I guess it’s about bringing some sort of meaning and structure to our lives. Repetition is comforting isn’t it? It connects our present with our past and with our future. It’s something dependable and safe. It’s an attempt to feed the soul… to satisfy our unquenchable hunger for meaning, purpose, connection, belonging, hope.
It’s a heavy anchor of certainty in a sea of change.
Sometimes, we don’t realise when what we are doing has lost its meaning. We carry on doing the same old thing time and again. We do it that way because that’s the way it’s always been done. The tradition becomes a solid rock in a constantly changing world. The tradition may have been created in the first place to be like a protective shell – protecting and preserving something precious, or something useful.
But now it’s like an empty shell. Whatever it was protecting inside has long since disappeared.
We often create our own family rituals and traditions at Christmas don’t we? The traditional dinner, the tree, the mulled wine and mince pies, the same old Christmas songs album, the same order of events to the day.
I once heard a story about how the instructions for cooking the Christmas turkey were handed down through the generations, from daughter to daughter. The main rule to be followed was :
“Always cut off the end of the bird”.
Every year, for 75 years, this rule had been obediently, unquestioningly followed. That is until one day, the youngest, newly instructed daughter got curious. She contacted her great-grandmother and asked her:
“Why do we have to cut the end off of the Christmas turkey great-grandmother?”
Great-grandmother chuckled…
“Why, it’s quite simple my dear. We couldn’t fit it in our tiny oven in those days. You don’t need to do that now do you? Not with your nice big modern oven?”
All those years, and they’d been following instructions that were completely pointless, in the name of tradition. Until one person chose to say one very important word: “Why?”
My mother tells me that as a child, “why” was my favourite word, I suppose like many children. The incessant stream of “why’s” bombarded towards my poor mother was almost enough to shut her brain down entirely.
I’m 37 and I haven’t changed a bit. Well, except for the fact that I’m not usually asking my mother “why” but asking myself instead.
I question everything.
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Why do we do that?
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Is there a point to that?
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How is that still relevant?
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What are we doing that for?
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How do you come up with a blog like this?
Your thoughts on stuff is pretty cool I must say.
Well i do a lot of just living and observing and thinking about life! I just pray like mad before and while writing, and often have a complete blank but then it just flows. Takes hours mind you…