You are allowed to write about Christmas
To nostalgia, absent friends and the magic of theatre lights dimming
Hello you,
I hope your week featured rest, cosiness and candlelight. How are you feeling?
Perhaps there is a glimmer of optimism that LIGHT IS COMING. Thank goodness the darkest day of the year is now behind us (where I am).
I have A LOT of thoughts at the moment. So many that they are gambolling and crashing together, making it hard to grasp those I want to write about in letter form.
I’ve noticed recently that I have more ‘hidden rules’ than I realised, including around what I’m ‘allowed’ to write about. (See previous letter re being allowed to write about nature)
I’m sure you’ll be familiar with some of the classics.
You’re not allowed to write about that because;
- It’s already been written about lots. There is nothing you could add
- It doesn’t have a deeper meaning
- It’s too frivolous and self-indulgent
- Lots of people won’t relate to that. They might even feel excluded
I realised that I’d like to write about Christmas. Specifically, my twinkling, magic-in-the-belly, fireside memories of Christmas. (Aka selected romanticised fragments)
I’m giving myself permission.
I’ve been drawn to reading and listening to Christmas content. Stories, essays, poems. A particular highlight has been
’s Calm Christmas Podcast.If you’ve never listened, I’m jealous that you can spend the holidays bingeing it. Whatever your winter fantasy (mine is reading a book in a tartan blanket by the crackling fire with a steaming mug), this is the podcast equivalent.
A recent episode (S3 E7) was specifically aimed at those for whom Christmas will highlight the absence of missed or deeply longed for loved ones at the dinner table.
It is such a poignant and loving episode and it might be one to gently check out if this rings true for you.
Personally, I was so grateful that it evoked very special Christmas memories for me. Beth created such a precious space here for this remembering.
As I drove in the dark, I was taken back to Boxing Day with my Grandparents, who spearheaded one of my favourite traditions of going to Harrogate’s pantomime every year.
I found some joyful words I’ve previously written about these memories, some of which I’ve fished out of the old Christmas chest, dusted and shared here (with permission from…me!)
The wood-panelled entrance bustled with excited adults and children. In the corner was the tiniest shop you’ve ever seen. Just a square in the wall and a man with bags of multi-coloured sweets hanging behind him. At the top of the grand staircase was a huge, glittering tree. My tummy glittered too.
I followed Grandma. We sat on special seats which you had to flap down. I stared at the lightbulbs held by baby angel statues. Please go dark.
Finally, after a treacle-slow wait, they lost their brightness. A hush. And then BANG! A fairy appeared through the smoke.
The music boomed in my chest. It filled me up so I had no space to think of anything else. I shouted, feeling my tonsils vibrate.
‘Oh no he didn’t!’ ‘It’s behind you!’
I haven’t even told you the best part. There was a chase! All the characters came out of the stage and into the audience! The funny Dame, the handsome prince (who was a lady), the cow and even Sleeping Beauty. Sleeping Beauty came down our row. She smelt of soap and roses and I even stroked her ball gown. Silky. I’ll never forget the day I touched a Princess.
Nostalgia is such a powerful alchemy of feelings. It’s no wonder that companies and advertisers lean so heavily on it at this time of year.
We reach and grasp to re-experience something and though it’s never as vivid as the moment itself, the echoes can be quite beautiful.
One of the reasons I love stories, reading and writing is the ability to tap into nostalgia. When I think of Christmas, I am nostalgic for the quality of the light and the specific taste of After Eights when it was dark outside and we were happily stuffed full of Grandma’s dinner. (The memory resides in a house, in a room, which I’ve written about before.)
Even as I write it, I can’t quite conjure it up in words. It is a hazy feeling that is so close but can never be held. That’s why it is so precious.
If you need it, this is your permission slip to write about nostalgic feelings you hold so dear. Maybe they’re about Christmas and the way that beloved person added the magic sparkle or perhaps they’re about another time of joy and warmth.
It is not frivolous or self-indulgent, you are allowed.
And if you would like to comment and share below, I would be truly honoured to read them.
Take care, you. And whatever you’re doing to mark the end of this calendar year, please make sure to include yourself in the list of people to take care of and love.
Janelle x
These photos!! Your tree is exactly how I remember my childhood one 🎄 have a peaceful season xx
Ahhh your words, images and description of the panto evoke so many feelings of Christmases past. Wishing you a beautiful one xx