Love in the Time of... Holidays

Our best selling pre-packaged gift was (unsuprisingly) a box of select best sellers from a few of our lines. It sold equally well among both groups of men, but for entirely different reasons. Men from Team Moral chose it because “These were the products the hotel gave us on our honeymoon!” or “I know these are her favorite things in the store!” Men on Team Flaming Douchebag grabbed the box out of my hands, saying “Looks expensive enough and it’s pre-wrapped. Fine.”

Now, I’ve definitely given people less-than-wonderful gifts. Sometimes I just have no idea what to give someone. It makes me feel like a giant asshole, but it’s not something that keeps me awake at night. Normally. Working until 4PM on Christmas Eve, however, gave me the worst sense of gift induced anxiety ever.

No, I didn’t give out a ton of sucky gifts this year, but as I got closer to heading home for the holidays, I realized that spending so much time in a consumerist hell meant all I could think about were tangible gifts. Everything I planned to give away was something I knew the person it was going to would like, appreciate or, at least, use, but there were literally three gifts I felt good about giving: a set of wine glasses, a notebook, and a cell phone bill payment. When I actually climbed into my dad’s car to hear home for the holidays, it hit me that the gifts I had to give and the gifts I was going to receive didn’t really matter. I was ridiculously exhausted, but more than tired, I was homesick.

Between Christmas Eve and now, I have had the wonderful fortune of spending time with almost every single one of the people who hold down my world. The night after Christmas, I went out with my two oldest, dearest friends (pictured above). One of my cousins came to Christmas in New Jersey for the first time in five years with his wife, who is expecting a baby girl in February. A friend from high school, who now lives in Paris, made it into Philly to meet me during a lunch break. That was the first time I’ve seen her in a year. I got my first carefree night out with my roommate/faux sister from Penn since she started dental school. On Saturday, I literally tackled a friend from Penn when she walked into my store. Though we talk for at least an hour everyday, I hadn’t seen her in person since she graduated in 2005. There was not a single day in the past week that I didn’t spend time with at least one wonderful, wonderful person.

As I rang in the New Year at a party my friends and I could have definitely done without going to, I asked them what their New Years’ Resolutions were, and realized I have none of my own. For as long as I can remember, I’ve come up with extensive, overly ambitious lists each year and convinced myself that if I really set my mind to it, of course I could lose ten pounds, learn a new recipe every week, find a boyfriend, save tons of money, memorize two monologues a month, save enough money to fund international travel, and, you know, work, sleep and everything else I’d be expected to do within the coming year. It’s not that I no longer have goals and dreams—trust me, if you said “Here’s a magic wand; wish away!,” I’d be occupied for damn near the next week. I guess it’s just that, in the past week, what became apparent to me is that, yes, I do love the holidays, but not as I’ve always expected to. When it came down to it, I loved Christmas because I got to be with my family, not because of any present giving that took place. New Year’s wasn’t a wild evening for me to drunkenly celebrate my accomplishments and lament mistakes I’ve made while promising myself a perfect, shiny 2007. It was my chance to appreciate what’s good in my life right now, and topping that list are my loved ones.

Image of Katie and her Lambertville Ladies from her own personal collection.