Heading Out

At this time of year, one's thoughts turn to the many facets of the Christmas holiday season. My mind conjures up various traditions, among them being reunion with family, the exchange of presents, the making and consumption of food and plenty more. Most of it is good, as one would expect given the popularity of the occasion, but plenty of it is bad. The bad is discussed fairly thoroughly without my help, and so I try not to pile on.

It's taxing to refrain from griping about such a thing as the unpleasantness of traveling. Even though I'm quite aware of its futility and that I have nothing original to add to that which has been said by those who are more enthusiastic about the matter, I want to vent my own feelings. I suppose that's reasonable, isn't it? One saxophone player isn't going to let his spit build up in the instrument just because all the others are letting their own out.

Still, I feel better if I can manage to work through the negative thoughts and emotions of difficult Christmas-time travel in my head. My estimation of people who let all that out is diminished, and my expectation is that theirs of me is likewise diminished if I go and do a lot of whining. I know that I think less of myself for it, unless I manage to leaven my complaining with enough humor that it sounds more like a comedic routine than anything.

In any event, suffice it to say that I am and have been wrestling with the very universal condition of trying with difficulty to get someplace. I'd like to say that this is on account of unjust forces beyond my control, but I must confess to my own role in the matter. Ultimately I, like all of us, must accept ultimate responsibility and deal with the consequences in a dignified, competent fashion. It's my preference to do so privately. I suppose this very item belies that, but at least you can see my conflict.