As we know, for all of its beautiful and precious moments, the world can be a stressful and worrisome place.  So much time spent fretting over things large and small.  Do we invite creepy uncle Fred to the Christmas Eve get-together again this year?  What will the job market look like when I finally graduate with my diploma next Spring?  If one tends towards catastrophic thinking, like me, given the current state of the world and where it seems to be going, one may be concerned about whether future generations will live rich, healthy lives, or possibly become sources of protein for marauding, post-nuclear militias.

This is where I really take heart in my tendency towards paranoid thinking, and my abysmal predictive abilities.  I remember having a hearty, mocking laugh when—was it a century ago, or does it just seem that long?—a certain buffoonish and loathsome rich guy announced his intention to run for the U.S. presidency.  “Nobody would be stupid enough to vote for him,” said I.  Well, I had no inkling of all the bad shit that was coming our way, so perhaps there’s a whole world of pleasant surprises and breathtaking progress on the horizon that will take me completely by surprise.  Given my past track record, nothing is more likely.

In the meantime, though, all of the bad things or good things that may come our way are locked within the impregnable vaults of the future.  And if there is any time of year that invites us to turn our backs, for a little while, anyway, from the realms of the hypothetical and rejoice in whatever the here-and-now has to offer, it is the holiday season.

So, for at least three weeks, I will devote myself to those things that make me feel good.  I will ignore news feeds and social media.  I find more time for the people who make me feel valued and alive.  I will rummage through thrift shops for vintage walking canes and cigar boxes.  I will avoid the shopping malls, ignore the online sales, and spend more time with my dog at the off-leash park.  I will wax up my skis, dig out my woolly socks, and split some wood for the fire.  I will sink into bubble baths and theatre seats and find refuge in the immense spaces between the covers of books and the two sides of my headphones.  I will check out the new display at the downtown art gallery, and book tickets for Swan Lake and Nosferatu.  I will put on the Elvis and Charlie Brown Christmas albums.  I will refuse to travel far this year, set-up the Christmas tree before December 23rd, pop the cork on a bottle or two of prosecco, and sing along with Frank Sinatra, George Michael, Radiohead, Barbra Streisand, and Dolly Parton.

I will, as much as I am able, loosen my useless mental grip on the world and all its worries, and let all the darkness slide from my shoulders.  Because everything looks better in the jeweled glow from candles, and those small, coloured lights.