#4 - Visceral reactions to movies and mistletoe
Season’s greetings, dear readers! Some exciting (but minor) news - I hope you’ll start seeing more of me in your inbox. Remember how I wrote that whole intro piece on getting through the sucky parts of writing? I’ve started that process - writing every day, trying to refine my work, slowly getting over my ego/perfectionism - and I’ll be frank, it’s been a little tough. I almost scrapped this version of newsletter #4, but I think I owe it to myself to at least try to throw some shit at the wall and see what sticks.
Anyway, let’s talk about the obvious - the holidays are here and in full swing. If you grew up in the US, you’re probably familiar with the concept of the generic Christmas movie. In addition to having predictably similar plot lines, the covers tend to look like this:
The premise is more or less the same - a big-city corporate girlie finds herself stuck in a sleepy town for the holidays and stumbles into an enemies-to-lovers trope with the local lumberjack. He teaches her the true meaning of Christmas while chopping wood (shirtless), among a montage of other holiday activities like tree decorating and cookie baking (most likely with a recipe from her dead mom 🙃). At the climax, she almost ditches hot lumberjack man because her job demands The Big Project™️ be done by Christmas Eve, but she triumphantly quits in the name of love…and Christmas magic! There are a million and one ways you can repackage this formula - and there’s a new movie out about said formula (which I will be watching) because it’s been done THAT many times.
I enjoy the occasional Christmas movie (not those posters though, oof) - they’re a great reminder that not everything has to be so serious all the damn time. But the holiday season can create a weird and wide spectrum of feelings, from joyful to painful and everything in between. Maybe those movies lift your spirits and fill you with holiday cheer, or maybe they make you feel a little lonely and a little sad. It’s hard to fall into the world of an idealized Christmas fantasy if you’re waking up to a very different one - especially one that involves heartbreak.
Christmas is generally a positive season for me, in part because my birthday is in December. It’s also a season in which being overly enthusiastic - about gifting, about lights, about love - is celebrated, and I love that. But this year, I can’t say I’ve been all that into cheesy Christmas movies, especially ones that involve romance. These movies generally do not affect my well-being, so it’s strange to watch on-screen sparks fly and feel…the ick? And not in an “oh my god, this plot line is so unrealistic” kind of way; it’s more like an “ugh, do people actually love each other this much?”
I have/had a bad habit of idealizing scenarios and then being disappointed when they don’t work out, and the holidays are a great example of how I fall into that trap. But this also happens all year - whether it’s autumn or spring or summer, if I don’t pick pumpkins or frolic through a field or drown myself in Aperol spritzes, then I feel like I missed out. I know there’s nothing wrong with indulging in cute, seasonal things, and I know nothing will happen if I order a pumpkin spice latte in May instead of October (can you even do that?). If anything, I probably feel this way because I’ve blurred the lines between capitalism and genuine joy. Capitalism tells me that I have to consume this thing, and as much of it as possible right now, because if I don’t then I risk FOMO/a lack of Instagram pics/a missed opportunity. Genuine joy tells me that it’s okay to like things that may seem excessive or tacky - and to revel in that is a beautiful thing. As someone who’s been seen as too zealous for most of my life, I like activities in which “going all out” is a positive instead of a negative.
It makes sense that I’d be a fan of Christmas, but it’s also consumerism in overdrive - so these feelings get maxed out for me around this time of year. And now here I am, openly admitting how agitated I am over some movies with so much cheerful repetition they’re practically begging to be turned into drinking games. After years of watching the same fake scenarios play out on-screen, I am at a point in my actual life where I have a long-term “special someone” during the holidays. Middle school me would be ecstatic to know this, even if she would’ve denied it - and adult me is excited too! But emotionally, I’m somewhere else. The happiest time of year is here, finally, and the side of me that wants to decorate gingerbread houses and make snow angels and kiss under the mistletoe is dormant. Hell, the sheer concept of mistletoe makes me want to absolutely vomit. I wish I could explain why kissing under a plant elicits such a visceral reaction in me, but I can’t - it just does. I am a fully grown adult who is grossed out by mistletoe…and perhaps a bit salty that it doesn’t spark any magical feelings in me.
I feel like I need to open up my chest and pull the romantic in me back out - where are you, affection? Why can’t you hear me? Why have you gone away? But that’s not how feelings work, and that’s not how I fix this problem. I feel like the grinch on the top of a lonely mountain, watching the people of Whoville rejoice in the love and abundance of being together - especially when at this point, I think my partner may actually need a 39-and-a-half-foot pole to touch me (okay, that’s enough references to How the Grinch Stole Christmas).
As frustrating and alienating as it is, this is my body trying to tell me what it does and doesn’t need right now. I can’t shove this notion away because it won’t fade on its own, but I also can’t figure out how the hell to move past it. It’s hard to remember to treat my emotions like waves, not oceans. Waves come in different sizes and carry different meanings - sometimes you ride them with glee, and sometimes they knock you on your ass. And when I get knocked off, I suddenly find myself lost at sea, kicking and screaming without realizing there’s a way to find solid ground again. Right now, my ocean of overwhelm feels vast and widespread (and covered in lights because, you know, Christmas) - it forgets the moments I spent with my partner giggling over gaudy ornaments or getting a tree with my family. Did I spend the whole day drowning, or was that really just a brief moment? Why can’t I remember all the other moments, the ones in which I rode the waves happily?
If this was a substack post I could simply tie a nice bow on and go about my business, I would. But these are weird, sticky emotions that are exasperated - not caused by - all the pressure that can come with Christmas, and I think I need to take some time to sort them out. It’s inconvenient and it makes me want to throw a mini tantrum, but I’m trying to take in that this is where I am this year. And on the days I can accept these feelings more (instead of wondering why I’m “broken”), it’s easier to slip into the Christmas magic I’m so worried about missing out on. As much as I’d like something to blame, I can’t exactly take it out on a bunch of holiday films - they’re doing exactly what they set out to do with their content. I should probably just watch something else instead (shout out to Wednesday on Netflix).
Also - while my inner holiday romantic feels a tad rusty, my gratitude and appreciation are not. Thank you so, so much for opening my emails and spending some time in my little world this year. To know that this newsletter still exists and that people care about it makes me so proud, and I’ve felt such a burst of confidence because of it. I hope you get to soak up some goodness - whatever that looks like to you - in these final moments of 2022, and I hope 2023 brings you the same joy and reassurance you’ve given me. May you kiss someone hot on New Year’s Eve (consensually, obvs), and may all your wildest Christmas movie fantasies (yes, even the ones involving mistletoe) come true. 💝