I love Christmas lights. Always have. I’m captivated by the sparkly, twinkly, magical feel of the lights this time of year. I’d sit in front of my Christmas tree and gaze deep into the colorful blinking lights, hypnotized, hoping they’d give me the answers to solve the problems of the universe. The more colorful they were, the deeper my love of them.
Some prefer the monotonous, bland white lights. The ones that are non-twinkling with no sparkle and no dazzle. The ones that look so neat and so well put together . . . white lights that are so tidy with not a bulb out of place. Some like those lights more than the crazy, haphazard, all over the place, colored lights. And for a couple of years, I loved those bland white lights too.
You see, after the travesty that was him was brought to light, the life I knew for so many years was done. Over. Dead. The things and people I thought I could count on in my future, were gone. My world was a discombobulated mess. I was stuck in a cesspool and sucked up into the middle of a tornado that never ever in life, had I ever imagined, I’d ever be a part of. I didn’t know which way to go, what to do or where to turn. Everything was a hot mess. I was a hot mess. I needed solace. I needed calm. I needed peace.
Christmas came a few months later and I couldn’t stand to see the colored Christmas lights I loved so much. Those friggin things were all over the place. The wonderful, brilliant, lively lights I’d loved all of my life, looked like they were laughing at me. . . mocking me and my seemingly destitute situation. I couldn’t stand them. Their animated and gaudy, radiant shimmer got on my last nerve. Their flickering, blinking and winking dazzled me no longer. They were so happy and cheerful while I was miserable. They made me want to vomit. I swear, if Christmas lights had one big master light switch, I’d have made that bad boy short out, never to send current to another colored bulb ever again. Hated it.
But ohhh, when I saw those colorless, unimaginative, ho-hum white lights . . . I loved them! They were everything my life was not. They were safe, mundane, dry, and drama free. I feezing loved those dull, lifeless, white lights. I longed to have a life as uninteresting and bland as them. I wanted those peaceful, monochromic twinklers on my Christmas tree at home but, I was outvoted by my kids. All they wanted was blinding radiant color in an otherwise drab and lifeless house.
It took several Christmases for me to stamp out my distaste for colored lights. Once I dragged myself out of the cesspool of my hell and freed myself from the storm that was him, I hated those damn lifeless white lights. They were unexciting and tired. They were stale and old. Once again, I embraced my love for those colorful, overly stimulating Christmas lights. They’re so vibrant and alive. So frazzled and fascinating. So discombobulated and messy. Just. Like. Me.
