Holidays Shmolidays.
The third day of any family vacation, for me, consists mostly of someone I talk to four times a year excitedly spending hours telling me something that is demonstrably and objectively untrue. They do this with the kind of bright-eyed conviction that you only see in cult members.
This happens around day three, because that’s about how long it takes for my family to get back to being comfortable around each other and start getting bored. Alcohol would speed up this process, but alas, my parents are Mormon and consider drinking on their property to be an offense to both God, and to them. So. Not only must I spend two-and-a-half days in existential dread, but when the sword of Damocles finally falls, I must also face these trials and tribulations sober.
To be fair, most people have complicated relationships with their relatives. It’s a miracle that the holidays aren’t just known as “family-murder-time”. But fear not. I have developed coping mechanisms. Ways of ju-jitsuing even the most awkward of story-times into a bonding moment.
For example:
Drifty-Eyed Uncle Joe: “Climate change is just a hoax perpetrated by people that don’t understand volcanoes and want to create a one-world order.”
Me: “What an interesting perspective.”
Otherwise Likeable Granola Cousin: “MRNA vaccines inject devil semen into our cells that will kill us all in seven years.”
Me: “Well. God willing. I’m up to my eyeballs in debt. I’m ready for that sweet release.”
Six-Year-Old Niece: “Jesus was a white man.”
Me: “I respect your opinions and beliefs. But could it be possible that Jesus is just an amalgamation of several different mythological archetypes? And if this is the case, could it also be possible that you’ve based your entire life on a lie, and that your afterlife will consist of getting eaten by worms?”
Look, I can feel you judging me, but if you don’t want me disillusioning your child and turning them into a tiny Tyler Durden, then maybe you shouldn’t be teaching them racist shit and then leaving them alone with me to run their tiny racist mouths. Maybe you should watch your own fucking kid, Becky!
My point is that free will is hard. It’s easier to just give in to instinct - the thing we already know we’ll do while we tell ourselves that we’re still making a decision. Most of our identity is based on stories that excuse our impulses and validate our existence. If we’re loyal, we frame that as the most important thing a person can be. If we’re strong, or kind, or smart, or attractive, we do the same. We view the thing we are as the thing that determines a person’s worth, and we view our weaknesses as forgivable, even relatable.
Free will requires stripping those stories away from us; Like scabs that aren’t fully healed yet. We’ll bleed more, and we’ll scar more. We’ll spend more time with our stinging insides exposed to the world. It hardly seems worth it. But some of us are compelled to do it.
To paraphrase for those who are religious: “For in much wisdom is much grief, and he who increases in knowledge increases in sorrow.” - Ecclesiastes
TL;DR
Knowing shit sucks.
My point is, if you’ve done the work of truly knowing yourself, then you know full well what a piece of shit you are. So give your relatives a break. Nod your head, eat your pie, and silently judge them like polite people do. Besides, they think you’re weird too.
Happy Holidays, everyone.
