As if joy weren’t strewn all around

Our Christmas Eve tradition is watching The Polar Express. Most people I know who’ve seen it, can’t get past the know-it-all character. It’s a fair point, the kid is absolutely insufferable. But, I think it’s an otherwise underrated Christmas movie. The animation style is the perfect bridge between reality and make-believe. Tom Hanks is most of the characters. Depending on you perception, Santa is simultaneously real and not real. We don’t even learn the main characters name. He is all of us. Classic. It should go without saying that we are not religious people. We watch the Polar Express on Christmas Eve because it’s heavy on Santa magic and when you take the Christ out of Christmas, Santa fills the void.

I’m not feeling very Christmas-y this year, can you tell? Christmas is always pretty low on my list of favorite holidays. But, this year the heartfelt messages of goodwill and consumerism are not quite strong enough to counter the strife of my present moment.

I do love the simplicity of the first gift of Christmas in the movie. If you’ve never seen it, the boy and a few other children board a magical train to the north pole. After a harrowing train adventure, the children and Santa arrive at the city center with his elves and reindeer, adorned in hundreds of beautiful bells ready to see Santa off. We learn the bells are silent to nonbelievers. Our boy (a nonbeliever) is chosen to receive the first gift of Christmas. They hoist him into the sleigh next to Santa while the elves cheer their brains out. With great majesty, Santa gifts the young man a simple silver sleigh bell as a token to remember him by. But, of course, the bell is not just a reminder of Santa, it’s a reminder of everything that happened that evening, the train, the other kids, the magic tickets, and the Christmas spirit. Every time the boy hears the bell, he remembers what it was like to suddenly believe. Pretty nice gift.

That’s what a gift is really, a memory of a time. When you gift someone a pair of gloves they remarked over in a shop window, you say: “I remember when we were together and you thought these gloves were lovely. I wanted to remember that moment with you again at this moment.” Or you buy something because it reminds you of a friend at a time you are not together. You think, perhaps there is some magical facet of their personality that I have not uncovered yet, but I desperately want to know. “Do you like this novelty tea infuser? It made me think of you.” Music at midnight matching my exact mood is a gift from my algorithm. Each song is a poem written by someone who felt the same pain. For that moment in time, I’m not alone. If you know a person who can take one look at you and know whether they should encourage you to get out for a walk, or offer a massive bowl of ice cream with two spoons, you have experienced the gift of relief being able to surrender your care to someone else.

If you are open to receiving gifts from the universe, you will start to receive them all the time. I could be as simple as walking down the wrong aisle at the grocery store but seeing an item you need but forgot to add to your list, seeing a family of deer out on your fourth walk around the block with you energetic dog, or hearing a quote that helps you make a tough decision—all gifts. In fact, I think—for no reason, just my own personal musing—most good gifts can be attributed to alignment of universal timing. I am into all the jazz about cycles and seasons, and rhythms of nature. I think we’re all on our own personal orbit and we have choices to make each day that can make our ride bumpy or smooth. When we pick all the “right” choices, we hop on the smooth path. Life is easier, fuller, and warmer. It doesn’t feel like so much like we are swimming upstream. My best guess for figuring out which choice is right? Pick the choice that is kind.

Here’s a secret about me, I love to walk around and say good morning to people. In my head I play a game where I believe my wish for a good morning tips their day from bad to good. My small gesture weighs the scales in their favor. I, alone, can fix it. (ha! remember when he said that?) I know it’s a bit self-important to think that my morning greeting could change the outcome of another person’s day and subsequently their life, but I have to tell you, I always feel better after a stranger acknowledges me. If all I have to do to spread kindness is say good morning, sign me up.

As a result of this simple practice, I know a lot of my neighbors by name. Knowing your neighbors is great. They offer extra tomatoes and keep an eye on the house while we’re away. We lend them our shop vac and our kids provide affordable dog walking services. You might be surprised, but busy body neighbors are great to have as long as you also have good boundaries. They keep everyone updated on the comings and goings. There is a man who lives in my neighborhood. I’d guess he’s in his early sixties and lives alone a few houses away from his elderly parents still living in the house he grew up in. He’s friendly enough but he is an energy vampire. I am ashamed to admit, before I step outside for a walk with Ink, I check to see if he is sauntering down the road. If he is, I walk the opposite way. It’s fair for you to judge me for this, I judge myself. I hate that I feel this way about another human being. I feel selfish and cruel. If you have not known the struggle that is living with a neighbor you want to avoid, but are forced to interact with daily, no matter your mood or circumstance, I envy you. I hope your good fortune continues.

Some days I forget to check and I walk right into him and his old dog who I’m not certain knows whether it’s inside or out. This is the universe’s way of telling me to say good morning to him. And I do. We talk about the price of pies at Costco, and whether the county will ever get our water lines figured out. We talk about the new owner of the gas station down the hill, and who used to live in the house on the corner. I spend time with a man I presume is quite lonely, and I think that’s the reason he asks nothing about me. He doesn’t have a lot of people around to ask about. A conversation with him reminds me that my eight-year-old’s barrage of questions are a gift to me. He reminds me I’m not alone. I hope my good morning steers my neighbor’s day toward kindness. I want to think that my presence in his life is a gift for him too.  

But, what do I know? Maybe he hates our conversations. Maybe he rolls his eyes as he walks in the door—can you believe she said the gas prices seemed reasonable? Then he calls a real friend and the two of them hash out just how dumb I was. But, I wouldn’t bet on it. I think he knows I wish good things for him. In a world with so much division and mistrust, I think the solutions are on the micro level. We can leave little gifts of goodwill for each other.

Saying “good morning!” to a neighbor is a vote for the world you want to live in. Volunteering time at a food bank is good, setting up a recurring donation toward a worthy cause is good, showing up to help clean a park is good, but you don’t have to go that big. Start small. Say hello to someone. Say it loud. Look across the street to see a man sipping coffee at a café table, Raise your voice over the traffic to say “Good Morning!” Wish him well. Wish that he does have a good morning. Change the day for him.