- Lower your expectations
Too often we put so much pressure on ourselves to have (and ensure others have) the perfect Christmas or New Year’s Eve that we end up stressed, frazzled and disappointed. What would it be like actively to set a lower expectation for your family this year? What if you were define a “good Christmas” as simply sharing a meal with your family (whether it’s a Nigellaesque feast, an overcooked turkey, or emergency take-away); enjoying some time off work to play with your kids (even if they squabble a bit); and finding a few hours to read a book (even if you have to get up a bit early to get that quiet time).
- Know where your responsibility stops
You are not responsible for ensuring your family has a good time. Read that again. Sure, you might be in charge of food, or you might be the one who deals with the kids’ presents, and those are definitely responsibilities with a capital R but, in the end, whether or not people enjoy the effort you make is up to them. You can lead a horse to the eggnog but you cannot make it drink…
- Get a little grateful
It’s so easy to let the season go by in a rush of wrapping up work, getting things done, paying visits, shopping, and attending events without stopping to appreciate all the gifts it offers. Over the holidays, take a moment at the end of every day to feel gratitude for all you have, even if – in fact, especially if – you currently feel like moving to a desert island at the earliest opportunity. Take a moment to, if possible, step outside, look up at the stars and genuinely count your blessings. When you go back inside, you’ll be able to see the noisy kids, grumpy father-in-law, slightly wonky tree, and rather cramped sitting room through very different eyes.
Get happy: give thanks now to shore up your soul for days when reasons to be cheerful seem few and far between.
My beloved, who’s a lofty and well-built 6ft1, often ribs me about my somewhat more dinky stature – I’m a whole foot shorter than him (if you’re reading this on the continent, 1m84 vs. 1m59). It’s usually stuff about me jumping to reach the higher shelves at the supermarket, or making sure I avoid puddles in the rain in case I drown. If we see a large group of children, he’ll grab my hand and tell me to keep close in case their teacher mistakes me for one of them and I get swept off to primary school. I’d always found these little jokes between us sweet and funny – until this week, when my beloved’s fears came close to reality. Cue scary music.
The day began like any other…
I was wending my way to work one morning when I spied a group of be-wellingtoned kids kicking up the fallen leaves and having what looked like a lot of fun. Now, we live in a part of Paris that has a huge quantity of trees – we’re right near a large park, and the roads around it have been decked out with foliage for aesthetic consistency – so you can imagine how big that pile of leaves was and how crisp, dry, golden and, well, inviting.
Reader, I had to. Without thinking, I was in there myself, kicking up the leaves and having a fine old time. The funny thing was, people didn’t really seem to notice – leading my beloved to comment that I simply blended in so well with the other children that nobody noticed that I was a fully grown adult. Ha ha, most amusing.
Back to school
Anyway, the point behind these ramblings is that this week, I played in the fallen leaves and loved it. In that moment, I was so happy to live where I do and was utterly filled with gratitude for the trees in our quartier, the extra five minutes I had left myself so I didn’t have to rush that morning, the stroke of luck we’d had in finding our apartment right there (another tale, another time). Maybe it was because I was behaving like a schoolgirl, but I was suddenly transported back to my secondary school assemblies, where the autumn hymn of choice was always “Autumn days”. Anyone who grew up in the UK will have come across this harvest festival classic :
Autumn days when the grass is jewelled,
And the silk inside the chestnut shell,
Jet planes meeting in the air to be refuelled –
All the things I love so well!
So I mustn’t forget, no I mustn’t forget –
To say a great big thank you, I mustn’t forget.
I’m a big fan of all things autumnal, and that morning ditty was always my favourite. Even as a kid, I could relate to the idea that we all have such a lot in our lives (especially in Europe and North America), that it’s essential not only to be aware that we have a lot but also to feel and express that joy and gratitude.
The Glad Game
In Britain, we have the harvest festival to celebrate Mother Nature’s bounty, in Canada they do it in October, and in the US this month, the hustle and bustle of life will stop for one day so that loved ones can come together and perhaps think about all the good in their lives, offering a up a silent or a spoken “thank you”. For me, the Canadian and American Thanksgiving holidays are a cue to remember how happy I am to have some dear Canadian and American friends in my life – and to write and tell them.
So, whether it’s because of the blatant indoctrination practiced by my school in making me sing that hymn every autumn or because of friends scattered across the globe, this time of year I’m reminded more than ever of all I have to be glad about (I truly think Pollyanna had the right idea). There are so many little things that can easily be forgotten, but that shouldn’t be taken for granted. Admittedly, it’s hard to feel glad on cold, rainy days when the bus is late and you drop your new phone in a puddle, yet that’s precisely when you most need to remember your abundant blessings. That’s why it’s crucial to make that list – mentally or on paper – on days when life is a cruise ship rather than a destroyer. I’m starting right now, with both the big things and the small – in no particular order.
I’m thankful for the EU – without it my life in Paris would be harder, or perhaps would never have been possible.
I’m grateful I don’t have any allergies.
Gizmo, from the film Gremlins.
I thank God every day for my beloved – there are no words.
I’m thankful that I have loving and supportive parents, to whom I owe everything.
Alain de Botton, Jasper Fforde, Jane Austen and Richard Carlson.
I’m really glad I managed to stop biting my nails.
French cheeses – say no more.
I’m so grateful for my cherished friends – every one of them nourishes and teaches me.
I’m deeply thankful that someone, at some point, invented musical theatre, and that my mum introduced me to it at an early age.
I’m grateful for the opportunity to write this column and for the readers who enjoy it.
Love Actually and It’s a Wonderful Life.
I’m thankful for the autumn days, when the grass is jewelled, and their wordless reminder to say a great big thank you.
Originally published on Running in Heels.