It seems that dh and I may have reached the point in our lives where things are just too cushy. He works too hard. I’m too withdrawn, making every effort to avoid conflict with family, with spectators, with whoever.
This Christmas a few things became evident: that the small family gathering we have on Christmas Eve with our children, my mom and her husband and the lovers, friends and strays invited in, are the real heart of Christmas for me; that my extended family is populated by a lot of pretty nice people and few incredibly mean-spirited ones; that cooking for hours and hours on Christmas morning is not enjoyable and that listening to one relative complain about all she has done has become, in it’s own sad way, a family tradition; that more really is, somehow, less.
So where do we go from here? I ask this rhetorically but also in the most real and visceral sense of the word. Our family is being set up for a battle. I don’t want to fight. I just want to live peacefully and harmoniously with everyone. And while I’m at it, I’d like to have a few more empathetic, intuitive people in my life because, folks, so few of them are. People seem to have a real knack for not only assuming the worst but for trying to achieve it.
It’s nice and comfortable to have the bills paid without worrying and to know that we have ample food and heat and room for everyone. This would doubtful be different if we lived in a shack. We’d move the kitchen table out and put a bed in it’s place if that’s what we needed to do. Cush sounds nice but I think it also breeds complacence, disease, and unrest.
For now I feel like I’m on an overloaded vessel and don’t know what to cast overboard first.