Dear December,
What happened to you? Do
you remember the days when you were that enchanted time between fall and
winter? Do you remember the days that
you embraced all of us with spirit and delight? Do you remember being the time
of year that summer envied? Do you
remember that? What happened to you;
what happened to us?
December, what happened to the excitement that came with your
arrival? The Thanksgiving dinners full
of laughter that gave way to the lights and decorations that celebrated
you. The traditions that you brought
back year after year, once so coveted have become tedious and excruciating. Pulling boxes from the closet to decorate
trees and homes has become a chore. Grocery
shopping to bake snowman cookies and gingerbread men and peppermint bark has
become a series of hostile encounters that has robbed us of the enjoyment of
the final product. Giving the gifts we
have chosen with such attention and concern to detail has become less
fulfilling now that we can question the options.
What happened, December?
When did the days of playful weekends with cousins turn into three
months of corporate propaganda? When did
the 25 days in the advent calendar succumb to half a year of pressure, starting
with Christmas in July? Where did you
lose the simplicity of short days and long nights? Hot chocolate has been replaced with
peppermint mochas. Gingerbread houses
have resigned to rebar enhanced culinary designs. The
bicycle has been made obsolete with battery operated, battery powered, plastic trucks. Where are you, December?
I remember days when December, you were desired. You were an escape from the rest of the year. As a young adult, I remember the first time I saw the city lit
up from Shoreline drive in Alameda and being as captivated with the lights on
the city skyline, as I was with their reflection on the bay. December
after December, I rode BART into the city, from the Fruitvale Station, with my
roommate. We’d get off at Powell and
Market. As we made the accent into the
city, we would both stand silently in awe of the energy around us. When we finally found our bearings, we would
head straight for the effervescent lights of Union Square. We would banter back and forth and say things
like “One day, I’ll get you that for Christmas” or “One day we will be able to
eat there.” When we grew fatigued of Macy’s and Virgin Records, we would
meander through the Market to the waterfront.
When the glowing blue and pink neon lights and shiny façade of the Fog
City Diner reflected off the Embarcadero, we could almost taste the bread and
milkshakes.
Every December, we did that.
We would rest our feet and tempt our nearly sophisticated pallets at one
of San Francisco’s most iconic restaurants.
Then we’d hail a cab back home, by way of BART. Once we got back to the East Bay, we would go
to Waldon’s books or See’s Candy and pick up a gift we could afford for each
other. But once upon a time, those
nights in the city were cherished and hopeful.
What happened to that?
I wouldn’t fly to the city now, during the month of December, if a
helicopter landed in my back yard, picked me up and dropped me directly on top
of Union Square. So, what happened
December? When did you lose your mystique? When did you become so angry and resentful
and dirty? What happened to your genuine
innocence and kindness? What the fuck
happened? Why is it that December is the
most resented month of the year, now?
How did a month of celebration become some much responsibility and angst?
December, I want the old you back.
The one who shone with glitter and magic. The one who sparkled with the light that reflected in all children s' eyes. I don’t like the new you. I don’t like the expectations and
disappointment. I really don’t like who
you have become. I don’t need your
entitlement or your judgment. Somewhere
along the way, you lost sight of what was important. Try to find that again.
Yours Truly,
Inner Peas
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