By Anita Garner
I like Christmas Eve more than Christmas Day and Thursday night better than Friday (a holdover from when we used to work a five-day week.) I like the days spent making packing lists for a trip (remember when we used to travel?) and watching for the delivery truck to arrive, even when it’s something I’ve ordered for myself.
I cling to anticipation. It’s the only thing I get to decide and even that is iffy these days. The days/weeks/months leading to any event are my favorite part and when Christmas has come and gone, it’s not the presents I’ll miss. I’ll miss waiting for it to arrive.
Some people are superstitious about expressing a desire for something, fearing they might jinx it, but even when we try not to, of course we have expectations and with them come the possibility for disappointment. It’s a chance I’ll take. Having no expectations would feel like giving up, not something I’m willing to do. If optimism is only for children who still believe, then put me down for that.
Before bedtime every night (shall I add “during these unprecedented times?”) I try to find the next thing to look forward to. It might be as big as completing a project or as small as taking the first step to start a new one, or looking forward to tomorrow morning’s coffee.
Here I sit surrounded by gift-wrapped packages and lights and provisions for wonderful meals and my thought is, now I only have a few more days to spend in anticipation. I’ll snap out of it as soon as I come up with the next thing to look forward to.
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