At some point during December, perhaps before the tree goes up, maybe before the last present is wrapped and possibly before any attention is turned to New Year’s Eve celebrations, wishes are made and offered up to the universe. Some people do it like clockwork, as though a Christmas wish is a precursor to a New Year’s resolution.
They may be ones of a personal nature, while others may be for friends or family. Some of us may hope for things, for the tangibles that fill our lives; others may wish for strength or focus, for peace or clarity, for a new beginning or for the bravery to do something that could be life-changing.
I imagine the wishes being as countless as the stars. I picture them populating the airspace just over our heads, doing their best to keep up with us as we rush here and there. I suspect they’re all bumping into one another and vying for room to breathe and space to exist — space which becomes more and more sparse over the course of the month as more wishes fill the air.
It seems as though some of them stick around and make it into the new year with us, while others — though shiny and well-intended — burst like a delicate bubble the minute the magic of the season passes. Where do they go? If we’d bothered to write them on a little piece of paper as though they were plucked from a fortune cookie, would they stand a better chance at coming true?
And those that come to be, why did they survive? Was there more attention given to them, more determination or were there more prayers about them?
I didn’t want much this year for Christmas. I have stuff, things that fill my life and give character to this house — and I appreciate them all. But something about this particular year makes me wish for others more than want for myself, and hope for you more than think of me. This year, my wish is your wish, and I hope you find whatever it is in the new year — if not before.
Merry Christmas, everyone.