Maybe it’s just me, but lately I’ve been feeling like December is just … hard.
I don’t have any real emotional reason to feel that way: no family drama. No old holiday loss. If any thing, I’m happy… But I’m also exhausted. And I’m not just talking about my usual bouts with insomnia. I’m talking about soul-level exhaustion that I can feel in my body, right down to the muscle and bone…
Too many parties.
Too much food and wine.
Too much sparkle, too much spending, too many colors, too much noise, too much drivingbuyingrushingwrappingtalkingtalkingtalking.
I don’t know … Maybe it’s just me.
But I suspect not.
Earlier this week, though, I tell T I don’t want to plan anything for this night. We’ve had a double-booked calendar all week, but tonight … tonight I want nothingness.
So, halfway through our Sunday afternoon, we make a second pot of coffee in the Chemex.
And we laze around for hours and read.
We finish wrapping presents.
And I don’t know why, but at some point we dust off our matching ukuleles and decide we’re going to learn “Silent Night.”
It was September when T and I first took lessons. Back then, I remember how awkward my little ukulele felt against my chest, and how hard and sharp the strings felt, biting into the tips of my fingers. My hands never seemed to want to curl in the correct shapes.
This evening, though, I teach myself the simple chords, and after a few minutes of practice, everything just feels right: the curved mahogany against my breastbone. The gentle happy Hawaiian echo in every strum, reverberating through my skeleton.
As I play, I sing the old carol: Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright…
And suddenly I feel that silence… That calm.
The room fills up with quiet even as it’s flooded with music.
The hurry of the holidays falls away.
I feel the music in my body — in the muscle and in the bone – and I feel — for the briefest little moment –what it means to know heavenly peace. ❤