Imperfectly Christmas
One Christmas, at least two lifetimes ago, I stood in a kitchen crying as I watched sugar fail to turn into caramel.
The sugar burnt.
My shoulders sank.
The slices of orange I had hoped to dip into it sat forlornly on the counter.
My mother and partner tried to console me. It didn’t matter, they said. Nobody needs caramelised orange slices.
They were absolutely right, of course. And yet, tears of shame and frustration trickled down my hot face.
I hadn’t thought of this moment for many years.
(Nor, to be honest, have I attempted making caramel again either, especially after watching so many struggle with it on The Great British Bake Off.)
I don’t remember why I was so set on making sugary citrus slices. But I do remember wanting to make that Christmas special.
And by special, I mean perfect.
And by perfect, I mean putting in the maximum amount of effort.
This was back in the days before I officially became ill, when I would simply have months where I needed to sleep most of the time before I could sort-of function again.
But I was reminded of my younger self this week while chatting with dear friends.
All of us were looking at the last week before Christmas with trepidation at what it might entail, and I had the not-particularly-original thought of how this is a “process vs. outcome” problem.
Or, to put it another way, “Making yourself miserable while accomplishing something you think will make you happy.”
I wonder how regularly we do this.
And I suspect it’s more often than we’d like to admit to ourselves.
There’s a quote about things being about the journey rather than the destination, often misattributed. But here’s the verified version of the quote:
Here’s to spending the festive season enjoying more of this kind of wisdom.
And finding the joy we seek in every step towards our outcomes in 2025.
Photo by Nati: https://www.pexels.com/photo/christmas-snowflake-cookie-on-festive-table-29837300/