Packing Memories, not Gifts: A Holiday redefined. Unexpected Results- Part 2

So the decision was made, we were going to abandon our traditions and head overseas to a less stressful holiday season. The kids were in, and we would go to the land of darkness, with magic twinkle lights, and I would reduce my stress and recharge my battery. It was about more than just a break; the growing divisiveness of our nation was weighing on me. I wanted to broaden my children's perspectives, to give them a chance to be part of a global tribe, one that can view issues from multiple angles. More than that, I wanted to instill in them a love of travel, something that had been a gift to me when I was young. To me, there could be no better Christmas gift than that, well, that and maybe a glimpse of the Northern Lights. As you can see I had it all planned it, with all this set, I was guaranteed a perfect holiday.

When we first discussed the trip, I got buy-in from all the kids. This wasn’t just my holiday; it was theirs too. Their voices mattered, and they were all in. But as fate would have it, in the fall before we were set to leave, I started having serious back issues. I couldn't walk to my desk at work without crutches and a rest, every step hurt and I knew that walking around Copenhagen would be impossible. Merry Christmas to me! Suddenly, our entire trip was in flux. We considered rescheduling until the summer, we could squeeze it in between two family weddings and my youngest's high school graduation. For a brief moment, this fracture in the plan made me pause. Did I overcorrect? Was this a sign to reconsider? Have I made a mistake? Should I push forward with the original vision or reevaluate? 

When the doctor was able to get me scheduled for surgery in early December and then gave me the green light to travel, just two weeks later, we decided to go for it, despite the risk and my limited mobility. In the months leading up to surgery, I was in pain and couldn’t do the planning I would normally do. I wasn’t sure what the trip would look like. Doubts started to creep in as the trip got closer. Would the comforts of home have been a better option for me? Was familiar what I needed? Could I navigate new places and ensure others had the holiday they craved while balancing my healing? These thoughts didn’t stop the trip but I lost the vision of what the trip would look like. The decision to travel with my reduced mobility changed the nature of the trip for both me and my family. It turned the trip into last-minute planning rather than the original vision of rediscovered holiday cheer. It was a reminder that nothing is perfect, stress and obligation can always find their way in.

We landed in Copenhagen and took the metro into the heart of the city. Our senses were immediately assaulted with Christmas, the music, decorations, and Charlie Brown Christmas trees were everywhere. To say I’ve never experienced so much Christmas charm would be an understatement. The streets of Copenhagen were draped in festivity, and although the daylight hours were short, I craved the darkness to see the glittering lights. One night while exploring we heard someone spontaneously singing Hallelujah, the singing was so beautiful and unexpected, I knew it would be a memory I would never forget. We soaked up the spirit.

The holiday became slower mirroring my mobility. I could not be as active as I normally am, so I had to take a breath and enjoy what these cities had to offer without just going, going, going. I couldn’t over-plan. We walked around Tivoli Gardens and languished in its beauty while I thought about the energy it would take to walk the mile back to where we were staying. I had to ask for breaks, so close to recovery, but not nearly recovered. 

My son felt his own pull, wandering the streets alone, falling in love with the city and exploring the University. Truth be told, two summers ago, we visited Canada, and he dreamt of attending college there. So, hearing him express an interest in universities in Copenhagen wasn't a surprise. This was what I wanted to cultivate, a mind not tethered to the confines of conversations in my home, his community. He would have wider views, and have a more balanced mindset. 

Not all of the kids were as enthusiastic about Christmas in a foreign land, though. Traditions run deep in my family, and my daughter especially felt the pull of the familiar. She missed the rituals we usually share, stockings on the bed, the Christmas Eve drive light peeping while hoping for a glimpse of Santa. I did my best to bring our traditions with us, but the reality is that you can’t always have it all. In the end, I chose a new experience over the comfort of tradition, knowing that this trip would create memories and maybe a few new traditions. But being away from the comfort of my own holiday cheer made me appreciate the traditions I have at home, built over a lifetime. There was a lesson here, if I could listen. 

After Copenhagen's magic, we traveled to Iceland for Christmas itself. I was able to achieve a somewhat different Christmas Eve drive, this one was over treacherous mountains with wind gusts over 60 mph. No one spoke as we all contemplated whether we would see Christmas morning. Right when we thought we were safe a car came barreling at us barely missing. During that drive we saw lights everywhere even in the cemeteries. Having excessive darkness made everyone light everything possible. We partook in the Icelandic tradition of gifting a book on Christmas Eve, curling up, reading while waiting for the morning. I embraced this wholeheartedly. When I woke up before everyone, I read. It replenished my stores and I was at peace. I lit a fire and felt fulfilled. Later, we had a beautiful Christmas morning of singing carols, playing chess, exchanging small gifts, and eating a feast.

Still, while we enjoyed the new experience, I missed the comfort of the familiar. I missed the laughter, the jokes, and the chaos that fills our home during the holidays. I also realized that my plan might have been selfish. I affected the Christmas traditions of not just my house, but others. By running away, I carried a heavy sense of guilt with me. The pictures from last year were starting to call me, reminding me of things I loved. Now when I looked at them, I only saw genuine smiles. 

As I sat in the silence and darkness of Christmas morning, I realized that maybe there was a different balance. Could I be more intentional in my holiday gatherings? By stepping away, maybe I had given myself space to set proper boundaries, I could balance giving to others while replenishing myself. Maybe I could draw a boundary and safeguard the ambiance of my smaller Icelandic Christmas with the craziness of my larger family cheer. 

I can honestly say I loved the white starkness of Iceland, I loved the solitude and the togetherness of just my nuclear family, but I missed hugging my mom. Is there a balance between creating new experiences and honoring tradition? Did I overcorrect by pulling away this year? I think there is a sweet spot where you give, but don't deplete yourself in the process. This Christmas gave me something unexpected, it gave me the gift of perspective, I stepped back and because I stepped back I can step forward on more balanced footing next year. I realized also maybe I don't have to go halfway across the World to find the balance, it is in me.