Wonder, Baggage, and Other Holiday Things

I spent a good chunk of the weeks before the Christmas/Chanukkah holidays—and the week between December 25th and January 1st—watching. And listening. Listening, and watching. And what struck me most was the emotional energy surrounding the season. It was everywhere, like static electricity in the air. I noticed some people were eagerly awaiting a new adventure, or just one more step down the well-worn path of tradition they’d followed year after year. Others spent weeks preparing their emotional baggage, packing it carefully along with their actual luggage, already bracing themselves for whatever the holidays would bring. And then there were those who were simply trying to make sense of a time that would dredge up old memories, a current emptiness, or old hurts. No matter the mindset, emotions and expectations were running high. It was palpable, like the scent of pine trees or cinnamon—inescapable.

And it made me wonder: why does it have to be this way? Why do expectations, judgments, fears, and old memories need to cloud the present?

In our family, there’s a new baby. And as a grandparent, I’m that one step removed from the immediacy, which gives me a different view—one of quiet observation. And what I see is wonder. Pure, unapologetic, unfiltered wonder. Wonder about everything—light, shapes, colors, voices… the list is endless. Each day, his ability to explore and take in the world grows. But here’s the thing: he hasn’t yet been told what’s acceptable and what’s not, what he should think or should not think. And the veil between the world as we know it and the unseen world of God and heaven? It’s thin. I know this because I see it in his smile… at things only he can see, with his still-pure view of the world, his openness.

There’s a message here for all of us—those of us whose eyes have narrowed, whose hearts have been stilled, whose ears have grown sharp in response to the challenges, pains, and fleeting joys of our everyday lives. Actually, there are three messages. Three, like a very small but very effective self-help book that I would totally buy.

1. Approach the world with the senses you were given at birth. Even if it’s just for ten minutes a day, step outside to find something to wonder at—a bird calling out, a tree rustling in the wind, a child laughing while playing with a dog, a musician lost in his music. Anything that’s pure and simple, that carries no judgment. That’s where goodness and kindness live, even if you don’t believe in either.
2. Put down your emotional baggage, just for a moment. I’m not so naïve as to think a magic wand will make it disappear. Scars run deep, memories linger. But what if, just for a little while, you chose to set it aside? What if you decided to walk hands-free, to let go of that heavy load for a while? You might be surprised by what you find—a new lightness, a different perspective, or at the very least, something worth smiling at.
3. Forgive and accept everything. I remind myself daily that I’m really just not that important. Not in a depressing way, more in a “get over yourself” kind of way. The truth is, nothing I do or say is likely to be life-changing for anyone else. So why cling so fiercely to an opinion, or insist on “my way or the highway”? Accept, forgive, be open to other viewpoints. Over and over again.