The other day I asked my husband what he wanted for Christmas. He thought for a second, then said “Nothing”. And added, “The older I get, the less I need.” I hadn’t really thought about it but it is the same for me. I had a hard time coming up with a thing that I want. Because I don’t want things anymore.
Sure, things are nice, don’t get me wrong. There is joy in things. I can’t live without things. But what I really, really want the most are not things: what I want the most is to feel a certain way.
For example, I have been struggling with a little postpartum depression and the new mom anxiety. Mothers know what I am talking about: inadequacies about my mothering; intense fears about the well-being of my child; you get the idea. I would very much like Santa to bring me an enormous box of joy, safety and comfort so I can get filled up with the certainty that everything is and always will be fine.
Also, I would like to put in a request for an amazingly successful year with my writing, in which I get to finish all my books and they turn out to be wonderful and touch the hearts of many people. I want to feel successful now and allow success to come to me. I’ve surely been on the brink of it on more than one occasion and managed to masterfully sabotage it.
So this year what I want for Christmas is a new me. Well, I like the now-me just fine. But I’d love some tweaks here and there in the way I think and feel. Can I? Can I?
Merry Christmas to you who celebrate it and may your deepest wishes come true.