I’ve been worried lately. I’ve been worried about how I’m going to afford Christmas. I’ve been worried about getting everything done- decorating, entertaining, work, family, friends. I’ve been worried about, well, everything. Seriously. That’s why Slarti’s post was a breath of fresh air:

Here’s the way I see it: most of our frustrations in life come from
measurements against some perceived standard, and our lives falling
short.  This is true of marriage.  This is especially true of
the Christmas season.  Something in our brains insists that there is
such a thing as an ideal Christmas, and even though we can’t remember
the particulars, we’d swear we had one in our childhood.

It just isn’t true. Even if it SEEMED perfect, your parents were
highly stressed out to make it appear that way to you.  The good old
days were NOT that good.  This is a trick our brains play on us.

You know, he’s right. I grew up with big family Christmases with all the cousins and the ham and the presents and decorating. And in my mind’s eye, it was perfect. But I know my parents stressed over whether it was not even perfect, but okay.

See, I think it’s normal and possibly even good for us to worry about things, but when we let it take over, as I have lately, it goes from keeping us on our toes to making us neurotic. So this Christmas I’m not going to sweat it. I’m going to accomplish what’s in my capability and not worry about everything else. Whew.