I look forward to Christmas. Anticipating its arrival starts right after Thanksgiving. Mariah Carey is on every radio station and the mall Santa comes out. Working retail during this month is both exciting and exhausting. Shoppers are frantic to get the best deal and the perfect gift while store owners try to meet whatever quota is set. Although I’m not behind the register anymore, I still feel the chaotic energy wherever I go. The show begins.

With the month-long buildup it’s expected that when the day arrives it must be perfect, not a hair out of place. Gifts in pretty paper and food on proper plates.

Ungrateful, the Grinch in me screams how it’s a materialistic nightmare. I’ve never seen the audience. Yet I still participate, even without being baptized. Guilt lurks under the performance. I am not one of the Three Wise Men. I do not honor Christ through my gifting. I honor my ego and this tradition that I choose not to question.

After the day is done, I finally relax. So yes, I look forward to Christmas. So the much needed eleven-month rest can begin.

But it isn’t finished. We sit in intermission until New Year’s Eve. Decorations are displayed, trees are lit, and stockings still hang, but Christmas is over.

I am relieved that the frenzy has calmed. There are just five days left. But my mind can’t rest; it stays stuck on what’s to come. We spend almost a week in this limbo state. And then—boom—it’s a new year. The curtains are drawn, the props are put away, and now the holidays are officially done.