Let's make no bones about it; I'm a bitter, miserable kid. No matter what I have to be thankful for, no matter what's going right in my world, I always dwell on the negative things. Maybe it's my personality. My disposition. Maybe I don't get enough vitamin C. Maybe it's a chemical imbalance. Whatever the reason, I tend to make the least of situations. I'm like a grumpy old man 50 years ahead of my time. Seriously, if I had my druthers, I'd be down in Florida right now at some retirement villa, drinking midori sours and playing canasta with my white chinos tugged up around my chest, held in place by an equally white alligator skin belt that nicely complements my white loafers and knee-high rubber orthotic socks. I went directly from angst-ridden teen to grumpy old man with no middle ground in between. To me, the glass always seems half- empty and I never have trouble finding things to complain about. Some might call it a talent; most would call it a horrible character flaw that makes me the kind of person you can't stand to be around for more than 15 minutes without developing an uncontrollable urge to drive bamboo shafts under my fingernails or flog me with a wiffle bat.
But enough about me; let's talk about you. Did you have a good vacation? I sincerely hope so, Dear Reader. But if you didn't, I understand. The holidays tend to be a very emotional time of year for many people, and I'm no exception. If I were a real journalist, instead of someone who just makes stuff up that nobody reads anyway, I'd do some research and I'd come up with a study that shows how emotionally stressful the holiday season is. Statistics. Numbers to correlate with words. Maybe suicide rates are higher in December than in other months. It could have something to do with the weather. I don't know, whatever. That's not the point. The point is, even if you have the sunniest of dispositions, the holidays can still sometimes bring you down.
Now, as we've already determined, I do not have the brightest outlook on things. So when December rolled around, I fully expected to feel a little blue. And then when exams started and stress mounted, I fully expected to wind up perched on the ledge of some existential pit of despair, mired in an emotional morass of sadness, frothing at the mouth and howling at the cruel injustice of a world gone dark long ago.
And yet, nothing even remotely like that happened. In fact, I was fine. I felt calm, relaxed, at peace with myself and the world. Happy, even. What brought this unexpected joy into my life? In a word, Christmas carols. You see, my house's digital cable setup offers a bunch of pre-programmed digital muzak-type channels that play several genres of music all day long. I stumbled across the "Seasonal Music" channel and my life was forever changed. What better way to spend an idle afternoon than locked alone in your room, staring at a blank screen, listening to the same brand of music played in malls and department stores across this great nation?
What's not to like? From the giddy, manic exuberance of an Alvin and the Chipmunks sped-up rendition of "O Holy Night" to Art Garfunkel's folksy, down-home version of "O Come All Ye Faithful," a parade of holiday hits lifted my spirits. And while Stevie Wonder might be legally blind, his spiritual vision is 20/20, as proved by his jazzy, upbeat classic, "Everyone's a Kid at Christmas." As I sat on my couch, lights off and blinds drawn shut, and listened to golden-throated Vanessa Williams ask the ineffable question, "What Child is This?" all my worries, cares and troubles melted away like so many flakes off a urinal cake.
The majestic beauty of an endless stream of Christmas carols explains why I was happy during the first week of December and able to keep my head above water, so to speak, despite the added stress of term papers and final exams. But then I left campus for vacation, leaving behind the digital cable music channels, thereby severing the umbilical-like cord connecting me to the soothing sounds of such show-stopping tunes as Debbie Reynolds' "Chrissy the Christmas Mouse." And yet, I didn't plummet into a Hamlet-esque depression. I didn't paint my nails black or carry around a dog-eared copy of Dostoyevsky. I didn't try on any trench coats and I didn't design my own Marilyn Manson devotee website. Instead, I just had a nice, pleasant little vacation, even without all the caroling. Why was I happy? I'll give you the short answer: I wasn't here, and sometimes that alone is reason enough to smile.
