I’m sending Christmas cards this year.
Yes, I know, I know, I say this every year; its something I’ve wanted to do for a while now, probably ever since I came back from Taiwan where I learned to send mail and gift boxes. (And also: send by actual post? From this country? Oh how we laughed.)
But last year I decided to actually do it and so threw caution to broken postal system winds and enthusiastically bought two packs of those holly jolly Christmassy type cards.
Of course, by then it was too late to send anything so I kept them close at hand for this year (ie not in the Christmas box under the house) reasoning that, by their proximity, I’d be inspired to send them at a reasonable time for our postal system.
April came and went and May and July etcetera and now it’s the first week of December and already too late again for the recipients of my Christmas cheer to receive anything before Easter. But this time, I’m pressing on regardless.
I’m nothing if not a child of hope.
Now, before I get into the card-sending bit, I feel that it’s only right to set a wee parameter here around the word ‘Christmas’.
See, I’m not religious. I don’t follow the whole Christian interpretation of pagan vibes, I don’t even follow pagan vibes. Mostly because it’s the 21st century and I’m neo-animist at best but also because its summer in the Global South over December and very light and bright and so we don’t need to call on Mithras or pray to Saturn to appeal for summer’s return.
But I’m still here for the Christmassy vibes. The tinsel, the movies, the tree, the get-togethers, the jolliness of it all even though – and I feel this caveat should be included for my own sanity’s sake – I fully get that this can all verge on depressing when you don’t have kids, most of your small family is dead or gone, and your friends keep leaving for other countries. But, other than that, it’s amazing. Like, I’ve fully bought in to the Hollywood Christmas.
I’m not sure how or why, but at some point I just allowed my adult self to sink into the fantasyland of it all and get over my inner Grinch (something I’ve written about here), and at some point around then, maybe after enough prompting from late-stage capitalism, I finally allowed myself to use the moment to enjoy consciously giving. Even if it’s just cookies. Even if it’s just a card to reach out to those far away.
So here I am, Christmas-card sending, and I’m new to it and for the most part it seems almost silly since I’m sending cards to everyone I talk to on WhatsApp and Zoom anyway, right? It’s not like people are going to have to wish upon a star to hear from me. I’m just going to be there. In their phone.
But.
There’s something in the physicality of this form of communication that I still find edifying: the press of pen to paper, the feel of the – look, in this case, pretty cheap – cardboard, the pull of the marker, the neat stack of envelopes when I’m done, making the teeny origami lucky stars, the stamps and the handling admin at the post office…
Even the idea of the physicality that I don’t see pleases me: the metal trays and bags and airplane holds that the letter will see; the hands and eyes that will acknowledge it in return; the machines designed to steer and sort and direct… A whole world of complex technology and specialists throughout history employed in the simple matter of this: to get a piece of paper filled with thoughts and best wishes from one place in the world to another. From me to you.
If I was a poet I would write a poem about this. But I’m not, so instead I’ll just say: it pleases me quite a lot. It pleases me that this small thing that was made sitting at my table in the sun room overlooking my small garden (and then had to be left being made because my dog was being chased by a baboon) will be held in the hands of those I can’t hug this Christmas.
It’s interesting though, because I have no idea if these letters will reach them at all, let alone next year, and I don’t really mind so much. Probably because the magic of giving is that you gift yourself the experience of doing so, regardless of the outcome.
Which reminds me of this piece of divinity from Kurt Vonnegut about sending mail; it’s a screengrab from ImprovisedLife.com…
This might be my last newsletter for the year. I’m not sure yet. I’ve wrapped up my next book and I think I’d still like to say something about that here. But if I don’t, may you have yourself a very merry holiday season and a jolly good New Year.
Love and light
t
x
TANYA MEESON 