One of my favorite center-left political journals published this article about Charles Dickens, I presume because this is the time of year when most people think about him. He wrote (of course) A Christmas Carol, a great story that has suffered the fate of popularity. There are so many versions of it—including one starring Donald Duck <groan>—that one would think it has no real cultural, let alone psychological, value.

But it’s really a great story. For this reader, Dickens captures perfectly the temporal dilemma we humans face: we are haunted by our lived past and imagined future, but also haunted by our incomplete, never-fully-savored present. The ghosts of past, present, and future are beautifully rendered to articulate this insight.

The Ghost of Christmas Past is a timeless, amorphous, mysterious figure, surrounded by light, glittering with a mysterious, shining tunic and belt. Scrooge can’t get a firm handle on what this ghost is, or what he (he?) looks like. Is he a child? Is he an old man? In my reading, this ghost resembles Scrooge’s own faulty memory, clouded by regrets, dreams, and ruminations. Scrooge’s self-centered exploration of the past is fraught with confusion, invention, and fantasy. Faced with the woeful choices he made—choices that left him alone and spiritually impoverished in his old age—Scrooge finally can endure no more of it, and begs the ghost to return him to his bedroom.

The Ghost of Christmas Present is just the guy you want at a party. He implores Scrooge to savor life, even as he scolds him for denying the richness of life (and the benefits of justice) to his clerk. This portion of the story is a hymn to the glories—and ethical implications—of living squarely in the Now.

And the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come is terror itself, terror personified, terror flinging Scrooge into his own grave. Here Dickens colorfully (and maybe with a bit too much ham) articulates the truth that to dwell on the future (or “future-trip,” to borrow a phrase from our own time) is to live in a world of swirling anxiety.

If you take time this year to watch or read A Christmas Carol, think about looking at it not as a morality play on being good to others, but a morality play on the importance of living in the Now of your life. Can you love the Now? Can you savor what you have? Can you be open to the gifts and challenges of your present moment?

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I hope it’s not too late to wish you a (truly) happy holidays. (It’s already the seventh day of Hanukkah, and You Know What is only one week away!) I touched on this in my Thanksgiving post this year, but haven’t really laid out my thoughts about the holidays.

I have a few.

I want everyone to have the holiday they really, really want. Not the one they really want, but the one they really, really want. Here’s what I mean. Let’s say you really want a holiday where nobody fights, nobody is offended, and nothing in your personal life blows up. Okay. I understand that. So you go to your cousin’s house for Christmas even though you’ve barely spoken to her all year, or you pretend that you didn’t break up because they really liked your partner and would ask all kinds of questions, or you deny that someone important has died because it’s just too painful. Or you just give up and skip the holidays because you see suffering all around you and feel hopeless about it. These kinds of holidays are enjoyed (?) by all kinds of people every year.

But why not go for the gold this year? It would be hard, I know, but it would be worth it. Decline your cousin’s invitation. Let her know you appreciate the offer, but you’re going to go to Hawaii for Christmas like you’ve always wanted, and hope she understands. (She won’t, but go anyway.) It would be even harder to decline her invitation and offer no reason whatsoever, but that is good manners—invitees are not required to divulge the reason for their regrets—and it’s good practice for building a new, healthier relationship with your cousin.

Or tell your family that you broke up with your ex, their beloved friend. Tell them you don’t want to talk about it, you appreciate their concern, and you really want to enjoy the holiday as best you can. When they come up to you later to ask about it, say kindly but firmly that you really don’t want to talk about it, you appreciate their concern, and you really want to enjoy the holiday as best you can. And when they come up to you again to ask about it, say kindly but firmly that…well, you get the idea. You’ll be training yourself and your family to learn healthy ways to handle awkward or upsetting information without ruining a celebration.

Or take the holiday to remember the person who has died. Put up pictures and light candles. Tell stories or (better yet) do a small ritual that acknowledges the painful absence, and also the bright presence of the person’s memory. The holidays will be darker, but also more honest, and celebration can sometimes be like that. Look at it as a more solemn holiday than you’re accustomed to. But it’s not a “downer” or a drag.

Or volunteer to work at a homeless shelter or the humane society over the holidays. Instead of despairing about all the human (and animal) suffering around you, do something about it and use the opportunity to connect with someone you don’t know. And wear a Santa hat, just to be dorky and silly.

I offer all of this because I really love the holidays, and really wince when I see people (including myself) not enjoying them to the fullest. So I mean it deeply and earnestly when I say to you, “Happy Holidays!”

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So. Here we go again. Thanksgiving, then the blur of the holiday season. I confess I like the holidays, mostly because I’ve figured out how to celebrate them in a way that works for me. Take, for instance, Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. You won’t find me camped out at 3:00 a.m., ready to trample the crowds just to get a new gizmo on discount. But I do like to take the bus into downtown Seattle and soak up all the energy. All the lights, the red coffee cups (yeah, I know they’re out already), the crush of music and crowds, the star on the Macy’s building. I’m a sucker for it all. (And I know how to hold my wallet close!)

As for Thanksgiving, other than being a lot more sensitive about animal rights than I used to be, I plan to celebrate it the usual way. But there’s one thing about Thanksgiving that usually leaves me cold: the part where people go around the table and say what they’re thankful for. I just don’t get into that very much.

It’s not that I’m not thankful. I really am. It’s just that it feels so forced, and so unnatural, to stop for two minutes on the fourth Thursday in November and remember that you didn’t create all the good things in your life by yourself, that there are other people to thank, or God or the universe to thank, for the gifts and glories in your life. If I wasn’t in tune with that over the course of the past year, then a little table talk is not going to resonate very deeply with me.

Here’s a better way: on Thanksgiving, take time to reflect on the way your whole life has been open to the gifts and grace of others. You know there have been some bad moments, or bad days, when you were decidedly not thankful, not open. But surely there have been moments over the last year when you’ve been oriented outward. For example, you could reflect on how you’ve grown and changed in your relationship over the past year, and how the two of you have made so much progress in your lives together. Or you could reflect on how, when you suffered a big loss this year, not only did your family and friends rally around you, but you had something to offer them too. Or—just to take one more example—you could reflect on the gift of new life you’ve received, whether it’s a child, or a pet, or a new job, or (fill in the blank), and how, in response to that gift, you have opened yourself up to receive this gift with grace.

If you approach Thanksgiving this way, it’s a lot more satisfying then the traditional method of “Oh, right. How easily I forget. Thanks!” Instead, it’s a way for you to celebrate how you already have been living in a spirit of thankfulness. And it allows you to gracefully accept the thanks of others for the gifts you’ve given them over the past year.

On Thanksgiving, ask yourself this question: how have I lived a thankful life, with an open mind and open heart, over the past year?

And then dig into the stuffing.

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