TRADITIONS are things we look forward to because they remind us of something happy.
Conventions are things we settle for doing because they’ve become accepted as the norm.
Obligations are things we feel duty-bound to do, whether we like it or not.
For too many among us, that last one is what Christmas has become.
It has to be perfect. It has to be like the M&S adverts. We need to throw everything we have – and, too often, plenty we don’t have – at a few hours of one day.
That’s too big a pressure, too much expectation, too much expense.
So today, as my own Christmas begins, here’s a mantra to close our eyes and repeat every chance we get between now and Santa arriving.
•It doesn’t have to be perfect.
•We don’t need to do anything that doesn’t suit us.
•We can have pie and beans for dinner if we want to.
Doesn’t that feel good? Letting go of all the outside influences, all the demands on telly and social media – and just being who we are, doing what we want to do?
To me, it’s like putting down a big rucksack full of bricks.
Listen, if your Christmas starts as soon as cards appear on the shelves, that’s cool. If it starts as soon as we’ve seen the back of Hallowe’en, terrific. If you can’t wait for the January sales so you can start stockpiling presents for December, knock yourself out.
If, however, you don’t get in the mood until a few days out? That’s OK too.
Even if you leave your shopping until the 23rd, that’s absolutely dandy.
Just as long as, however and whenever you get into the spirit, you do it on your own terms.
If you need a wee internal test to know if this is the case, ask yourself one question.
Not: “Have I done everything?”
But: “Am I happy?”
Because if fulfilling all the obligations we think will make everyone else happy only ends up with us feeling miserable in ourselves…well, what’s the point?
Who’s it for?
As a perfect example of this, think of the music we’ve had no option but to hear ever time we’ve walked into a shop since what feels like the middle of August.
Slade. Wizzard. Chris Rea. Mariah Carey.
The same playlist they hit us with every year. The same songs no one’s came up with replacements for in decades. Go into any branch of any major supermarket at any given time of any day and it’s a racing certainty that whatever song’s coming through the speakers is also coming through the speakers in every other branch.
Do customers ask for it to be this way?
Do the staff demand that it’s written into their contracts? Do they race into work so they can endure pop Groundhog Day for months on end?
No, no and no again. Yet someone in some office somewhere makes the same decision every single year; that this is how it should be, that going in for a loaf and a pint of milk just isn’t the same without Shakin’ Stevens and Mud.
Musical tradition has become convention which has become an obligation. Which is the square root of absolutely no fun for anyone.
Same goes for those overblown, mini-blockbusters the biggest players in the retail game bang out year after year. Who can we get that’s bigger and better than last year – Hannah Waddingham? Dawn French? Michael Bublé?
How much more incredible can we make a dining room look? How many more relatives can we have over, how much more inclusive and diverse can we portray the ideal family as?
If you’re someone who can watch this guff and feel nothing except something between mild amusement and simmering annoyance, magic darts. The ability to separate reality from fantasy is a wonderful one to have.
But the ad agencies and marketing teams who spend fortunes on turning grocery shops into a cross between Disneyland and Tiffany the jeweller rely on hooking in everyone else, all the ones who have allowed themselves to believe that Christmas DOES have to be perfect, that they need to put on a show for their Instagram feeds rather than a celebration for those closest to them.
That’s beyond cynical. In fact, for me it breaks all the advertising standards rules about honestly, decency and truth. See, what they never show is how much stress there is in preparing something that looks effortless. They never show you the queues at the car park and the tills, the arguments about how much is being spent, the stomach-churning fear that the turkey might not turn out right.
So over the next few days, before we put ourselves through it all – those queues that pump the blood pressure sky-high, the sweats as we check the bank balance, the palpitations over whether we’ve bought everyone something impressive enough – let’s stop and remind ourselves of that one simple question:
Is it making us happy?
If the answer’s no, then it’s time to turn back, go home, put the kettle on and breathe.
Unwrap a Terry’s Chocolate Orange.
Settle for who and what you are. Have the Christmas that YOU want to have.
And embrace the fact that if this isn’t good enough for those who are meant to love you, they shouldn’t be around your table in the first place.