Worm Sighing

My mum just said something rather interesting to me. She gave a big sigh and said that at this time of year she “gets a heightened sense of temporality”.

In other words, Christmas reminds us of the passage of time and our own finite existences. Which is nice.

I wonder why this should be? It’s a classic response, really. We’ve all done it - wake up on a cold morning and see that, though they’ve been there for two months anyway, the decorations in the local supermarket are finally appropriate. Buskers are playing carols (and getting more money for it). Parents are starting to look a little stretched. And we say to ourselves- “bloody hell, can it be Christmas again already?”

New Year’s is similar. “God, this year went quickly,” we mutter, and then get drunk.

Would this be the case without our own constructions on the season- the expectation of festivities at christmas, hannukah, or whatever superstition your traditions lead you to indulge in? Or is particular to the time of year alone- the short, short days with their blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sunlight?

 I don’t know about your family or friends, but my lot tend to run about doing a lot of tidying at this time of year. Things must be made cleaner, as if the house is briefly to become a maternity ward and the little baby jesus is due to arrive in far more than spirit. It’s a wonder we don’t run around sticking safety-plugs in all the electrical sockets and fencing off the kitchen with those infuriating white and powder-blue gate things.

I’m not immune either. I spent most of yesterday ‘picking up’ my room (in the Turkish and American slang). And here it all is- the past itself, your own personal snail trail congealing into the patio of your personal history. Old love letters, books you never got round to finishing, dust-covered gifts from last Christmas - or was it the Christmas before? No- hang on- it was five years ago. Already.

And today, the same story in our sitting-room. We’re a family of hoarders, and I get reminded of this every time I come home for Turkey. Clearing one shelf of pottery… stuff, and photographs, and bits of kitsch one or the other of us couldn’t help buying on holiday, can take a couple of hours. Especially if you work in dusting-time as well. And it’s all memories.

There are really two types of people- those who get stressed by Christmas, and those who get depressed by Christmas. I’m pretty sure that these are mutually exclusive, and I’m pretty sure that they effect everyone. I am about as pro-Christmas as you can get in a strictly agnostic way, and even I can feel the tug of negative nostalgia sometimes, when the ‘Merry Little Christmas’ comes onto the radio and another brick of lego goes into storage.

Time speeds up as we get older. We all know it. So how come we never get used to it? “That year went so fast!” we cry, but relative to what? To when we had the emotional and mental capacity of a barbary ape? 2007 went fast. So did 2006, 2005, and 2004. I’m pretty sure the last moderately-paced year was 2002, though it certainly must have seemed fast enough at the time.

My point is that if we’re aware of this perceptual change, then we can combat it. Guess what, guys: years are short. But there’s quite a lot of them, eh? So let’s try and not be so surprised about it this time next year.