You can’t describe this kind of Christmas. You can’t because there are no words to describe it.
Now I know my Old Dad used to say, and I’ve never forgotten it....”Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” And maybe feeling sorry for myself is what I’m doing, but how do I stop?
Truth is even long-standing addictions are easier to halt than emotions. Emotions are slithery and slippery things that can even crawl through blind-openings.
I mean…Think about it. There are other emotions that are not good, that should, and need to be stopped, but how do we fare with them? You can’t halt worry, or guilt, or regret, or sorrow.
And so, likewise, in an analysis of joy, can we neutralize joy so long as we remain in the midst of a joyful environment. Is it possible to say, “I’m not going to let myself feel good.” and succeed at that endeavor? Perhaps it can be done if one removes themselves from that joyful place and at the same time forces their mind to concentrate with hardened intensity on some negative situation as well.
But of course this is wholly speculative. There are no sample groups to study. So how can anyone know anything about the viscosity of joy or its dilution? Or the indices, weights, and balances of big joy, less joy, no joy, or slight joy?
Cause quite honestly, though the world be flooded with fools, what fool would ever attempt to eliminate joy when it pours down in a grandiose flood?
Now if I might deviate for just a moment, I remember when I was a child coming into my elder sister’s bedroom and discovering her sitting on her bed, her cheeks bathed in tears. I was shocked. Of course kids cry – they’re supposed to, aren’t they? But adults? What’s with that? When there are no visible signs of cuts or abrasions?
I asked her where it hurt and to this she replied.
“You won’t understand this now but someday you will. My feelings have been hurt and when feelings are hurt, it is way more painful than a bump on the head or a skinned knee.”
I thought that bloody stupid. If it don’t bleed, if it don’t smart, if it don’t need a band-aid, it don’t hurt.
Of course, I now know better. It was so solidly reaffirmed this Christmas.
NEXT POST: My sorrows diplomatically revealed.