There may be a number of lesser known, flying-under-the-radar psychological issues that have gone undetected and / for treated for far too long. Primary among them is what I call After-Holiday Anxiety, or AHA. There is, to my knowledge, no known cure because I’d surely have seen the medication advertised on the nightly news.
There are a number of manifestations of this condition. One of the signs is Post-Decoration Syndrome. This is exhibited by the complete inability to put Christmas decorations away in a timely fashion. You’ll find home after home with lights and wreaths displayed well into January and sometimes February. Some people can’t bear to part with the Christmas trees. This could be particularly problematic if they insist on real trees chopped down in Northern Quebec in early November. Once the tree skirt is no longer visible under a blanket of dead needles, it’s time to seek a consult from the Fire Department. When family members start noticing that the wreath on the front door is now referred to as a “Spring Wreath”, or the sleigh is still out for the Easter Bunny, a reality check might be in order.
Next is Christmas Card Paralysis. There was a time, and I’ve written extensively about this, when folks sent out hundreds and thousands of Christmas cards. They’d be dutifully written out by hand and mailed by the first week of December. That was done so that the rest of us would know who we forgot to send to, and more could be mailed out to arrive some time before Christmas Eve. Sometimes, we even waited on a few to see if we were still on someone’s Christmas card list. If nothing came from them, we take them off the list. A failsafe plan until a letter arrives from them the next year explaining why they were on a tropical island or backpacking in the Urals and couldn’t send out cards. OK, back on the list. Now, however, more and more people are saying, “the heck with sending cards”, or words to that effect. Now we don’t know where we stand with these friends and acquaintances. We’ve just been out of the loop for a year or two, and those adorable toddlers when we last saw them, are now shown in Christmas card photos being sworn into the Supreme Court. What happened? It’s causing me great stress.
Then, there is Gift Return Delirium. Most of the pre-holiday shopping anxiety is gone, to be replaced by the stress of holiday gift returns. What if somebody asked me if I liked the socks they sent? What socks – did I see those socks, and if I did, what happened to them? I might have exchanged them a driving cap I liked, but who knows? There were just so many things arriving, I don’t know. UPS and FedEx were dropping stuff off three, four, five times a day. Did I leave anything on the back porch? Look at that – my fingernails are chewed down to nubbins. I’ll just relax and make myself a nice turkey sandwich. Oh, no. My daughter ate all the leftover turkey.
Finally, we have the Holiday Schedule Psychosis. Back in our early married days, there was a great deal of shuttle-diplomacy. We’d carefully construct the Christmas Eve/Christmas Day timetable that aimed to keep everyone happy and shared the time equally. It didn’t really do either, but family members seemed to be pleasant about it. Now, we have extended family, good friends that we want see, and people that we don’t want to be alone, so the holiday gatherings now stretch out to Martin Luther King Day. It takes a former Chief of Staff to coordinate all of these dates, times, and locations, and it doesn’t begin to account for all the ones that we texted saying, “we’ll call you after the holidays so we can get together”. The family that are far enough away will get a phone call. But wait, is it meal time? Will they be opening their presents? Is it nap time? (That’s a “thing” in my family – we’ll all medalists in napping.) But, oh no, all this anxiety is disrupting my nap.
Did the holidays truly meet our expectations? For some, it was just wonderful. I know this year was for me. But for other people, it never really measures up. We’re not quite sure what we expected, but that wasn’t it. Just another day with some presents mixed in. I always feel that way about New Year’s Eve. In my sixty-six years, many of which I even remember, it’s never been anything beyond sleep deprivation on New Year’s Day. Even the Tournament of Roses Parade is becoming “same-old, same-old”. I feel badly for those people that have spent weeks and months sticking saffron seeds and poinsettia petals to the sides of a float. It gets little more than an “oh, nice” from me. Then I have to start planning the de-decorating. Everything has to come down, the tree is banished to the basement for another year. What was on that bookshelf before the Santa collection came onboard? The mantle decorations are put away carefully – like the tree ornaments, they’re all delicate and have been collected over many years. Another year of memories, another passing of time, or in the immortal words of Queen, “another one bites the dust”.
Now I’m feeling very melancholy, just a bit depressed. Maybe if I just leave everything out for another few weeks . . . . . . . ok, I’m thinking . . . .NO!
I'm Thinking...No! 