December came up to my doorstep without invitation, just the other week. I wasn’t quite finished speaking to November yet, but she had left before I knew it. She walked down my driveway and around the corner, not to be seen for another twelve months. November is quite nice–have you met her? She likes to come over towards the end of every year, in her green corduroy suspenders and maroon turtleneck, her hair tied up in a velvet scrunchie, and share a cup of tea. We like talking about deeper subjects, such as gratitude, the qualities of the best french fry, and the finer details of Autumn’s leaves and dying foliage. Beauty in a time capsule, set soon to break. November’s often overshadowed by her other, more well known siblings–October and December. The one month is all about candy, costumes and ghosts, and the other–well, that depends, I’ve found.
December can be a profound month. It’s the ending of another year, and depending on your faith, a time for celebrating deep mysteries with awe and humility. This year I am using it more intentionally, as a month for reflection, dreaming, and finishing projects at a slower and more focused pace. I am doing my best to ignore the constant marketing ads–ones telling me to buy more, want more, and to chase after false promises of peace or joy. I am not perfect at this, but I’ve learned over the years that when December comes up to my doorstep, I take away all his bright flashy lights and neon signs, say no to the unrealistic expectations, and take all the junk mail out of his hands filled with stock footage of happy, perfect families that are actually paid models in coordinated outfits. December and I instead decorate together, do a few slower-paced traditions my husband and I have created over the years, and try to finish up any shopping early. I’ve found this approach much more peaceful and feasible. Resting is an art I am trying to relearn. Refocusing without distractions, another.
Writing wise, I have a story idea bubbling around in my mind, something I am beginning to write ideas down for. I am dreaming of creatures while on walks with my dog and husband, thinking of funny jokes and characters, chapter plots, and also those serious moments of life that makes us all-too human and connected with one another, even with our differences. I hope to start getting this all into coherent writing soon–with God’s grace, and many cups of hot cocoa. Yum.
How are you spending your December? Are you hoping for twenty feet of snow, like I am, or maybe just a few minutes of peace, stretched to hours with a good book and some cocoa?
I hope your December is filled with good meals, and simpler moments of lasting joy and treasured peace. And if you’re at the family dinner table, and Uncle Bernie brings up politics, or Aunt Sally gives you her unsolicited advice yet again–remember that dinner rolls can also be used as projectile weapons. Especially when filled with mashed potatoes and gravy. Merry Christmas and happy writing adventures.
A.R. Clayton 