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All I Want for Christmas Is the JOMO

Do you ever feel like the Christmas season is kind of like Calvin's toboggan? Every year, I leap forth with childlike glee and remember halfway down that this winter wonderland trail accelerates into mayhem every time.

You know what I like?

Unshopping.

Subzero-TV--no cable, no satellite, AND no digital subscriptions. I get enough screen time thanks to Trixie and Katya on YouTube. UNHhhh.

Zazen--Shikantaza style.

Religious creed: "none of the above."

No gym membership. I avoid a sedentary lifestyle the natural way--by walking everywhere I can and doing all my outside chores with crude manual tools.

Not filling up my electric car with gas. Going to gas stations and oil change places never.

Quitting stuff. Supporting my daughter in quitting stuff even when it breaks my heart a little bit. (Farewell for now, dream dojo.)

Opting out of everything I don't feel like doing, with the quiet grace of Bartleby the Scrivener--but not his gloom, don't worry.

Not fighting about anything on social media.

Laughing at Cheerful Nihilism on social media.

Not drinking while everyone around me gets drunk. (These things are fun, and fun is good.)

Waking up with no jammies.

Silent nights.

The Joy of Missing Out.

PEACE OUT

This isn't some kind of scary Pete Davidson post here. On the contrary; I love my life so much that I want to savor it at a nice, slow pace. During the holidays, there are beautiful opportunities to savor moments--snow days, baking with lots of butter (my love language), hot cocoa, hanging out with Grandma--but there is also the frenzied pace of parties and gift-management and my husband's wretched Buddy the Elf work schedule of  approximately 2 AM to 8 AM and then 10 AM to 6 PM.

Pardon me, but fiiiiiiiiiik that math.



Especially because my husband is my thunder jacket.

We are both ready for that settling-in of winter that starts on Christmas Day, when you're either ready or you're not, but the hard work is done either way. It's when my man gets a break from one of his two jobs and the snow falls (I hope) and muffles the world in a luscious, icy duvet and we have a fire going all week and we subsist on leftovers and stocking treats. It's that moment after the toboggan has crashed, and we're embedded in the merciful embrace of a snowbank, and we are miraculously whole and fully alive and almost ready to start the climb up to do it all over again.

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