Every year, I look forward to writing our holiday letter. It’s a great chance to do a personal year in review and to let our friends and family know how very near and dear they are to our hearts.
This year, I have rewritten the letter three times and I’ve just trashed the third. I’m really struggling. Everything I write sounds so petty, “Lucas likes to burn it up on the dance floor and life with Sylvia is like being on the set of a musical.”
How can I talk about our three trips to the beach when there is so much sadness in the world right now? When all I really want to say is that I think we’re at a crossroads in this country. That the divide between the Wayne LaPierres of the world and my own heart have never been greater. That if we can’t even pass legislation to save the middle class from an insane tax hike at the expense of millionaires, I have lost all hope that meaningful reform of any kind in this country will ever happen. That I feel guilty that I just yelled at the kids for spilling OJ on the computer, because, at this very moment, parents in Newtown, CT would give anything in the world to be ringing out their mousepad.
How do I talk about being thankful for the bounty that we have, when right now, so many have so very little?
I’m lost. I don’t feel the lightness of the season this year. I see the amazing good that people are doing around this country and all I can feel is sadness that so much more needs to be done.
I’m sure I’ll write the letter. I’m sure I’ll brag about the kids. I’m sure I’ll talk about the beach. I’m sure I’ll tell everyone how much we love them. But I won’t lie, my heart just isn’t in it this year.
I have no doubt that, just like after every other national tragedy, life will go back to “normal”. But this year, this time, I’m just not sure it should.