Emotions, family, Holiday, Life, retail

What It Means to Be Me

We are almost to Christmas.  I feel kinda bad.  It is a big deal to everyone but me.  Everyone is asking what I want for Christmas.  Nothing.  I’m tempted to put it bold capital letters.  NOTHING.  It’s not just working me in retail for so long that has soured me.  The only family I have nearby is my Mom.  We don’t need a reason to get together or get each other something.  I am Wiccan so my “reason for the season” is different than most.  My husband spoils me year round and the dogs just don’t care.  It is another day off.

When I was a kid I loved Christmas.  Not because of the presents either.  What I loved was that all the unique and odd people that I didn’t get to see the rest of the year came over to Gramma and Grandpa’s during the holidays.  They might just drop in for a few hours to say hi or they might stay for dinner.  What I loved were the stories!  Everyone always sat around and told the most wonderful stories of things that had happened to them over the years.  Before my parents divorced I was blessed with a double round or stories because we would go to both sides of the house and visit.

Do you know what the really cool thing was?  They enjoyed telling me their stories.  The fact that someone my age actually wanted to hear what they had to say was priceless to them.  (I think that is why I enjoyed going to old folks homes when I was a Brownie and in Girl Scouts, once I got over my fear of going.  They told me of amazing things that had happened to them and the life they lived.)

I may or may not remember all of their stories (I’m sure I have all of them tucked away somewhere) but I have never lost the ability to listen to them.  That ability has been one of my greatest joys and sometimes greatest weakness.  Just letting people vent without judgement or listen to their stories I consider a privilege.  But sometimes those stories are so horrible that I am asked never to repeat them.  Not even to the person that told them to me.  They want to purge their system of that poison and try to move on.  There are times that I feel a bit like a confessor as well.  People will tell me what they feel or want deep down inside or why they are the way they are.  And that’s ok.  I’m hear to listen.  Not to judge.  I will never do that.  It is not my place.  I am hear to listen.

person holding red and white gift box with ribbon bow
Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com


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