I love Christmas. I love the smell of spice, evergreen garlands, and twinkling lights. And snow. Even though it has never actually snowed over any of my childhood Christmases, I still dream of a white Christmas.
That’s because I believe in magic. Not in a “Haha play along for the kids” way. No. I believe. I deep down, cross my fingers, wish upon a star, blow out the candles, believe. I want there to be magic at Christmas, and I love to help make it.
I’m from a big family – the sixth of seven children – so the house was always full of noise, and games and laughing (because of the games) and crying (also because of the games) but most of all, it was full of magic making.
With so many of us, money needed to stretch, but it didn’t matter because everyone knows, you can’t buy magic. Magic has to be made.
We made our presents, we made our decorations, we made up Christmas stories and performed them to each other on Christmas Eve.
Of course, we still trawled the Argos catalogue and begged for a Furby (It was the 90s, I make NO excuses) but the main thing I remember about Christmas was, what we made to create magic.
We never had a proper white Christmas, but we believe the memories we made together are all just as magical as if it had snowed. That’s why it’s called make-believe.
And then something happened. Somewhere along the way, Christmas just stopped feeling magical. Ironically, that was also the year it finally snowed. Deep, fairy tale wandered into Narnia, snow, but something about that year was off. I didn’t feel the magic. I felt the stress, I felt the pinch in my purse, I felt overwhelmed and irritated. I felt the cold.
But I didn’t feel the magic.
Maybe I was too old for it by then, maybe magic was only for children, but that was also the year I didn’t make anything. No Christmas cakes, no cracker jokes, no handmade gifts, and no Christmas stories. I was too busy, or so I told myself. We had a white Christmas, but it was not a write Christmas and certainly not a right Christmas.
I love Christmas, but Christmas can be … a lot. Especially now I am no longer a child and have children of my own. It turns out making magic takes a lot of effort and I chase my tail so much I have very little time left to chase any other tale (see what I did there?)
As much as I love the idea of curling up beside a Christmas log fire and writing, I seldom have time to do it. Which makes me feel guilty, and that makes me feel even less like writing and THAT makes me feel grumpy. I don’t want to make magic then. I don’t want to make anything and I lose all the love I once had for Christmas.
I felt it a lot last year, with a new born baby tucked under one arm and a toddler under the other as I tried to organise gifts that looked like they had been wrapped with my foot (because they had. I’d run out of arms, people!)
Everything felt more mess than magic. I didn’t make anything or write anything and I have to admit, the guilt made me a bit of a Scrooge.
Sometimes there is no time to write, but does that need to be another thing to feel guilty about? Writing is meant to be fun, right? It’s meant to be enjoyable and freeing otherwise why do we do it? But with so much to do over Christmas, does it need to be another thing to tick off our long list as magic makers?
NO.
Not this year.
This year I have promised myself something. A little Christmas gift to myself, maybe even an early New Year’s resolution, and a reminder from child me to grown-up me about the making of Christmas magic.
Do less.
Do less so that I can do more.
I can’t make all the magic at Christmas. I can’t write every day, I can’t make mulled wine from scratch, I can’t hand craft evergreen garlands around the house and sing carols every day. And I don’t have to either. Instead of thinking of it as a long list of things I HAVE to do to make Christmas magical, I’m going to think about what I WANT to do to FEEL magical. That might mean writing every day and it might not. It doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to feel guilty about it. This year I’m just going to enjoy making and what I’m making is magic. In whatever form that takes.
Would it feel more magical to read a story today, rather than write one? Would it feel more magical to make zero decorations but fill the house with the smell of mince pies? Do I really want to write today or does my imagination need to hibernate? This year I believe in magic, and like all good fairy stories, I will listen to the spirit of Christmas to find the magic.
Trying to do everything was exhausting and disheartening and I just felt like I was doing it all badly. It might not be a white Christmas or even a write Christmas but it can still be a magic one. And that’s the right kind of Christmas for me.
Secret Santa Side Note ….
I love to hear about other people’s magic. What makes Christmas magical for you? I know one family who reads The Night Before Christmas together on Christmas Eve. Another family turns off the TV and plays silly games together. My Mother makes a Christmas pudding every year and we all have to stir in a wish before it’s cooked. What’s something that makes Christmas magic for you? Pop along to our Instagram or Facebook pages and share your Christmas magic moments.
Because you can’t buy magic, you have to make it. In the words of Mariah Carey, I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree (unless it’s Furby).
Moor Imagination 