Hanging Our Own Ornaments: On Traditions, Growing Up, And The Bittersweetness Of The Holidays
When I think of decorating for Christmas, I clearly picture myself standing on the Florentine dining table in the living room of the flat I grew up in, holding a precarious balance as I’m looking for tree branches I’d missed to hang ornaments on, while trying not slip on the glass table top. I picture myself making a dozen metre-long trips between the pantry and the living room as I’m transporting boxes and boxes of decorations which my dad, standing a kitchen chair so he can reach the highest shelf, is handing me. I picture myself putting up the red and green lights in the tree, my dad saying I did a good job while moving them around a bit, and my mum and I exchanging glances alluding to my dad’s perfectionistic tendencies. All the while, every year, the date in the calendar says 24th of December - Christmas Eve.
I’ve not spent Christmas with my parents since 2019. The first year was not by choice as the world had stopped with the pandemic. For the next years, I juggled choosing between spending time with my parents in France and my grandma in Romania, leaving my partner on his own in London, fewer and fewer of my friends coming ‘back home’ for Christmas, and for the past two years, needing to think about Calli, our doggolina, as well.
So, now, the Florentine dining table is in my sister’s house in the US, the ornaments are still in the pantry in our flat, while my parents spend the holidays in France where they’ve half-moved. My grandma isn’t around anymore. The dozen trips have turned into just one, while I carry our little artificial tree and the couple of boxes and bags of decorations from under the bed to the living room in our East London flat.
After refusing to decorate any other day than the 24th for a couple of years, I started bringing the date closer and closer to the start of December - as my sister says, it’s nice to have the decorations up and feel that anticipation for a bit longer. Although the anticipation has changed from a childlike wonder and wish for presents under the tree to having a few days off where I can have hot baths, drink hot drinks (and maybe some whisky), watch Christmas movies, and maybe have some wintery walks (despite the lack of snow).
It’s warm, peaceful, and cosy in our flat. I feel content here, with the little life I’ve crafted, although I dream my slightly bigger dreams of a slightly simpler life. And yet every year, around Christmas, I feel nostalgic, and there’s a bittersweetness to it all. I feel a knot in my stomach at times, some sort of resistance to change and how things are now, despite it logically and to a large extent emotionally feeling right. Neuroscience research suggests this isn't just emotional resistance, but a complex neurological process. Our brains are wired to create meaning through memory, and transitions challenge our neural pathways. Davidson's (2012) research on neuroplasticity shows that these moments of change aren't just psychological - they're literally rewiring how we process experience.
It’s what many millennials are going through, in a world that’s changing faster than we can keep up with - the experience of childhood lost, of growing up, of leaving behind, of letting go. Wildschut's (2006) research reveals that nostalgia isn't just sentimentality - it's a critical emotional regulatory mechanism. For millennials navigating rapid societal changes, these moments of remembrance aren't about dwelling in the past, but about keeping a sense of our continuous self in the midst of constant transformation.
But this is not a sad moment - or if it is, that’s not a bad thing. We can feel both - bittersweetness and contentedness. Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) research by Hayes (2006) sheds light on this exact experience - the ability to hold multiple, seemingly contradictory emotions simultaneously isn't a weakness, but a sophisticated form of psychological flexibility. It's not about getting rid of or changing these feelings, but about making space for them. We can let go of traditions that we’re only holding on to because of the fear of what it may mean if we do let them go, we can create new traditions without losing ourselves, and we can do all this in the service of the life we want to lead, and the people we want to be.
We can hold the whole spectrum of emotions, allow ourselves to feel them and hold them (and ourselves) lightly - becoming better-rounded human beings in the process. Because time does pass, and things do change, and we can feel ‘the feels’ without falling apart.
Turns out, this all a profoundly human experience - and I, for one, want to live through it all.
What does this time of the year bring up for you? How do you relate to how you’re feeling, what does it all mean to you? And what would you like your process to look like, how would you bring intentionality to it?
Maybe your end-of-the-year resolution (is that even a thing?) could be to be a bit more curious about it all?
References:
Davidson, R. J., & McEwen, B. S. (2012). Social influences on neuroplasticity: Stress and interventions to promote well-being. Nature Neuroscience, 15(5), 689–695. https://doi.org/10.1038/nn.3093
Hayes, S. C., Luoma, J. B., Bond, F. W., Masuda, A., & Lillis, J. (2006). Acceptance and commitment therapy: model, processes and outcomes. Behaviour research and therapy, 44(1), 1–25. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.brat.2005.06.006
Wildschut, T., Sedikides, C., Arndt, J., & Routledge, C. (2006). Nostalgia: content, triggers, functions. Journal of personality and social psychology, 91(5), 975–993. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.5.975
