It's cold, windy and wet (no matter how often Irving Berlin sings for snow) and to keep us all snug, we have the wonders that are traditions. Lucky ones also have blankets, jumpers, central heating and/or log fires.
I know traditions are typically associated with Christmas, but I was reading The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green and he speaks about his tradition for the Indianapolis 500. Every year, he'll go to the event with his friends and it's not just the racing that he loves.
Come rain or come shine - as all traditions must be if they are to become traditions - he gets to the Indy 500 by cycling alongside the canal with friends and acquaintances, some of whom he only ever sees for this one event. Stopping along the way, everyone watches as two friends compete in a mile-long footrace, before finishing the rest of the ride.
It's clear in Green's writing how much he cherishes this day of traditions, where he chooses to do something that requires more effort than simply getting there would. You'll often hear people say "I want to live, not just survive" and I think it's the effort that people make that determines whether they do the former or the latter.
...his eyes lit up and watered in a way that no 10-foot, perfectly decorated tree ever could have made him.
Sure, traditions can be that pain in the backside thing you do to keep your family off your back, especially if you're hungover on that New Year's walk, but they can also be what brings people closer together. The familiarity of traditions creates belonging and a wonderful connection to those people we are no longer able to share those traditions with.
I was watching the Christmas episode of The Repair Shop and an elderly gentleman, accompanied by his grandson, brought in a Christmas tree that had been in the man's family since the second world war. Of course, for the tree to be 80+ years old and for it to be carried in, it has to be a fake tree. If you were to add a few more adjectives, those would be tiny, crappy but ultimately endearing.
The grandad hadn't brought the tree in because it was the most beautiful thing in the world, but because of what it meant to his family, having helped both his brother and father settle back into life after coming back home from the war. When he came back into the shop after the tree had been repaired, his eyes lit up and watered in a way that no 10-foot, perfectly decorated tree ever could have made him.
I'm writing this post, sat in front of my family's own fake, medium-sized, crappy but ultimately endearing tree. Whilst my family hasn't really been one for traditions, this tree sort of is one. It originally belonged to my grandparents and every year, we would travel the 300+ miles North to spend Christmas with them and there the tree would be, glimmering away in the corner, propped up on the little chest of drawers. Little me would get so excited as more presents were wrapped and placed underneath its plastic bristles.
That tree was always ready for our arrival, so I never had the opportunity to set it up, until a few years ago and I asked if I could help do it. My Papa and I got it out from the loft, almost knocking him out in the process with the panel that guarded the entrance to the loft, and I got to work. I always thought it would be easy to do, but getting the branches distributed evenly was a nightmare.
I have to admit, as excited as I was to set up that tree, it did lose a bit of its magic when it went from something beautiful that was just there to something that actually required effort. At the same time, setting it up helped me to appreciate the care that my Nana must have put in every year to get it looking just right for me and the rest of the family. That was special.
Even more special is that this turned out to be our last Christmas with both of them, so I have that honour of having set up that tree for them in that important year. The tree has now been passed onto me and I'll keep trying to put in the same amount of care as Nana did.
As John Green would say, I give traditions five stars.
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