Why I Don’t Always Feel Comfortable at Christmas

(Monday post = better late than never! On the other hand, it seems I have pneumonia, so maybe that’s more of a  reason than an excuse?)

I feel the same way about Christmas as I feel about drinking scotch, scrapbooking, or keeping kosher: it’s a chosen activity that makes some people I love very happy, but it’s not for me. I’d be sad if Christmas suddenly vanished, because I want the people I love to be happy, but if my own personal White Witch swooped in and made it always winter but never Christmas for me alone, I wouldn’t care.

Sometimes, people ask me to take part in Christmas activities, and sometimes I’m okay with that. Other times, I’m not. Sometimes, they understand why not, but not always. So here’s the deal.

Like I said above, for me, Christmas is like any other hobby that other people have but I don’t care for. (Well, okay, it’s not, because it has a history and some elements that make me particularly uncomfortable given my own personal and cultural background, but those don’t matter for the main point of this explanation.) Do I like reading romance novels? Not really. Watching action movies? Enh, not my thing. Playing first-person shooters? Thanks, but I’ll usually pass.

But main thing that’s different about Christmas is that, unlike those other hobbies I don’t care for, part of Christmas is togetherness. For many people who celebrate Christmas, the holiday is a time for family and friends to join in traditional activities such as exchanging gifts, singing familiar songs, and eating special foods.*

For some, part of what makes Christmas a special time is the feeling, bolstered by cultural ideals, statutory holiday status, and television specials, that the whole community  is celebrating Christmas just like they are. For others, there’s a special feeling from surrounding oneself with all the people one cares about and taking part together in the most pleasant of these Christmas traditions.

Because of this, when I say, “You know, I really appreciate your invitation to your Christmas dinner/party/brunch, but I think I’d feel uncomfortable there, so happy holidays, and I’ll see you on New Years,” I sometimes meet with different responses than when I say, “Thanks for the invitation to your sewing circle, but since I’m not into sewing, I think I’d rather not go — maybe we could meet up some other time for a movie?” or “I’m so honoured to have been invited to your WoW guild, but you know, I don’t actually like playing that game.”

Obviously, between friends, sometimes I’ll hear, “But have you tried World of Warcraft in a guild before? Because it’s very different from the game you tried but didn’t like. You should still give us a shot.” And that’s cool.

Just as obviously, sometimes I’ll reconsider and reply, “You’re right. Actually, I don’t like sewing, but I would love to spend time with everyone in this sewing circle. And if working at my running stitch is the price I have to pay to do that, it’s worth it.”

But there are still times when I’m going to say, “You know what? I do want to spend time with you, but there’s something about this activity that makes me really uncomfortable. So, for this one get-together, I’m going to pass. I hope you have a lot of fun, though!”

I’d be the first to admit that I like to throw some strange parties, and I know that when someone refuses an invitation, it can be difficult to take it as, “Oh, this person doesn’t like this activity” and not, “Oh, this person doesn’t like me,” especially when I personally think the activity is super-awesome and already have a vision of my imagined party with all my friends laughing and hanging out together like the smiling people in commercials who are trying to sell you something. But I try to remind myself that I want my guests to come by choice, not because they feel they have to.

Ultimately, I’m grateful when someone politely declines an invitation because they think they’d have a bad time pretending to like doing what I’ve organized. I’m glad we have a relationship where we can be honest with each other. And I definitely prefer a courteous negative RSVP to someone spending an entire party resenting the event, sulking, or convincing the other guests to do a different activity.

Although it makes me sad that the people I love don’t always share my love of certain pastimes, my enjoyment of those pastimes isn’t dependent on theirs. (Or at least, that’s what I shoot for.) More to the point, although I gush about my favourite things and pester people to try them too, when someone tells me, “I watched a few episodes, but I don’t really like The Good Wife,”  or “I know you love floor hockey, but because of my experience and beliefs, even trying to play it would be upsetting for me,” well, I have to accept that’s their opinion and leave them alone.

And this, not any belief that I’d be participating in an overt celebration of Jesus or Christianity, is what bothers me when people try to convince me to join in a Christmas celebration after I’ve politely declined. It’s not about whether Christmas should be considered a religious or secular holiday. It’s not about whether living in an area means adopting its dominant customs. It’s not about what other Jews have done or are doing or whether my past behaviour suggests I’d enjoy the company and activities at a particular Christmas get-together.

What it is about is others accepting my feelings about Christmas the way I accept theirs about modern art, House, M. D., or tomato sauce.

The most common response I get — and the one I find most frustrating — is “But it’s just a holiday; most of it is stuff adopted from pagan traditions anyway. It’s not like it means anything.” And in most contexts, it’s perfectly okay if Christmas doesn’t mean anything of religious importance to the people I’m talking to. I accept that just as I accept the opposite. But it’s hurtful of them to assume that choosing to celebrate it means nothing of importance to me just because they feel differently.

Meaning comes from experience. Meaning comes from context. Meaning comes from the personal journey each of us took to get to this moment, and if I articulate that an idea, act, or event means something different for me than it does for the person I’m talking to, it’s important to me to know that he or she respects that.

It’s okay to say, “Well, for me, Christmas has [this other meaning], so that’s what your decision not to join in means to me. How can we compromise to make this meaningful in a positive way for both of us?”

It’s okay to say, “Well, I don’t really understand where you’re coming from, so could you please explain?”

It’s okay to say, “Well, I think this argument that I offer respectfully will change your mind, though I accept that you might not see it the same way because meaning doesn’t follow logical rules — or, if it does, I accept that I have no way of knowing whether the rules I think are logical and objective are really subjective artifacts of my own experience.”

What’s not okay is saying or implying that the meaning I perceive is wrong or that the other person’s intended meaning should supersede what I perceive.** That’s saying, I know how you should feel better than you. I don’t trust you to evaluate the world in a reasonable way. My meaning is more important and better than your meaning… which, given what meaning is, implies that my life is more valid than yours.

And you know what? If Christmas is ruined — or even just made a little less than ideal — for someone I care about because I don’t want to participate, then I truly am sorry. But that refusal is not a decision I’m making on a whim — I am doing my best to learn what celebrating Christmas means to them, and the reason I’m choosing the way I am is because whatever that meaning is, not celebrating Christmas is worth something just as important to me.

Sometimes, I will have to compromise my meaning out of respect for someone else’s — go to that sewing circle or join that WoW guild. And I accept that. But I believe in equality, in negotiation, and in dialogue. It’s on us both to articulate what’s going on, and it’s on us both to listen to what the other has to say with patience, generosity of spirit, and respect of difference. And when those things don’t happen? That’s when I start to be uncomfortable.

*For others, there are more spiritually important parts of Christmas, and that’s cool, too. However, I don’t mention them here because people usually get why non-Christians don’t want to participate in those parts and tend to be all right with friends excusing themselves from those practices.

** Not that one can’t be equally rude by denying the validity of the other person’s intended meaning. One ought to acknowledge that someone’s actions do convey their intended meaning … to the person performing them. That doesn’t mean that they can’t have an equally valid, unintended meaning to the person to whom they are directed, and that the first individual ought to consider that person’s feedback if he or she genuinely wishes to communicate that intended meaning in the future.