We made our Christmas cards today.
It was a bit of a mad panic of a day (and it’s not over yet – circus night at the youth club we help at; Husby’s the ringmaster and I’m going as an Emu-rider!) and felt quite pressured. Yet we stuck at it, painting and cutting and stamping and drawing and gluing (that makes them sound quite complicated – each thing I described very simply made each part of our design), listening to Bach’s Christmas Music while we did so to ease the job.
Why do we do it to ourselves?
I suppose the knowledge that the few people who will care enough to notice that the cards were handmade will enjoy them all the more for knowing that time and effort went into making them, is enough.
It’s odd though, the things we put ourselves through for other people. It *must* give something back to us, as I can’t quite believe that as a race we’re so altruistic we are happy to pour our time and care into something as relatively meaningless as a Christmas card, which we won’t even see most people open, without some form of return.
Maybe it’s that old chestnut ‘projection’. Perhaps we imagine how we would feel upon receipt of a card that someone’s hand made, then transfer that emotion to the recipients of our cards and feel gratified that our efforts have been the cause of that imagined surge of warm fuzzies.
Maybe we just like making the effort in spite of the difficulty.
Who knows. Christmas cards are great though. One of many traditions which must be maintained.
Maybe that’s it – tradition’s sake?
What are your non-negotiable traditions?