letting go of Hollywood

A couple of weeks ago, I finally conned my honey into watching "Christmas Vacation".  (I know what you're thinking, who has to con someone into watching that masterpiece of a Christmas movie?!  But my dear sweetheart is a die-hard reality fan and so it takes time to convince him to watch a holiday flick rather than the latest episode of "Amazing Race".)  And, as things often do, the movie set off some holiday reflection for me. 

Basically, it comes down to this: I am Clark Griswold.

Ok, a younger, prettier, much more feminine (and probably not so angry) version of Clark Griswold.  Thanks to all of the perfect Hollywood Christmases I've watched year-after-year and, honestly, a really hilarious, joy-filled childhood (that would be me you see in that photo above wearing the always-fashionable tree-skirt... yes, the tree-skirt was a part of my traditional holiday garb), I have in my head what the holidays are supposed to look like.  The perfect tree.  The warm lights.  The perfect family photo.  The smells and sounds and traditions (all with their own Christmas soundtrack playing in the background... cue the Bing Crosby). 

But, like Ellen Griswold says to Clark, the pictures in my head, the "perfect" Christmas, well, they are ideals that no family could live up to... it's a myth.  Those high (and ridiculously unrealistic) expectations lead to disappointment and heartbreak (and sometimes tears), rather than the joy and gratitude that I so wish to cultivate.  Time and time again, I build pictures in my mind, all of my hopes and wishes and expectations thrown into one red and green basket.  And time and time again, my reality looks different. 

But, the coolest thing is that, if I put aside those idyllic Hollywood moments, the reality is better than anything I could conjure up.  Being present to my family, friends and partner creates moments that could never be replicated on the big screen.  Should my parents have attempted to plan the perfect Hollywood Christmas moments, I am sure they would have never included their daughters donning their tree skirt (a tradition that was passed down to my youngest sister just a few short years ago... the tree skirt is in well-loved tatters at this point).  Or those times when we dressed up in matching Christmas outfits and lipsyched to the Spice Girls.  Or sleepovers in each other's rooms on Christmas Eve, only to be jolted awake on Christmas morning by my brother and sister blasting Mariah Carey's Christmas album. 

The reality is that putting up the tree has always been a pain, and our family photos always have at least one moment of awkwardness in them.  Christmas morning has always been messy, the wrapping paper filling up nooks and crannies for days to follow.  And we never get enough sleep.  But the reality is so much better than anything that I could possibly imagine.  I work to remember that as I create new traditions, spend new holiday moments with my wonderful (and incredibly patient) sweetheart.

This morning, as I step off the plane in Seattle, ready for a much-too-short weekend of family and friends, I am actively working to be present, to not let myself get wrapped up in hopes and wishes but to let myself be grateful for the moment.