Edel Coffey: Christmas Eve is permission to finally down tools
Christmas Eve is the last stand, the last remaining defence against capitalism and the commercialisation of Christmas
I love Christmas Eve. It’s like the timer going at the end of showstopper baking challenge.
You’ve had all this time to do your very best to make Christmas happen and now, there is no more you can do. It’s over. Time is officially up. Fin.
It reminds me of the feeling I used to get at the end of an exam, a feeling of utter relief commingled with a little bit of guilt – could I have studied more, or made a bigger effort? Either way, it was too late now.
Now, it was time to accept the limitations of what you managed to do and release yourself from the pressure in the knowledge that there is simply nothing more that you can do.
In my mind, Christmas Eve is the last stand, the last remaining defence against capitalism and the commercialisation of Christmas. The one last buttress against the ever-diminishing sanctity of the one day every year where we decide to stop, close the tills, and take 24 hours off to be with family or friends, or indeed alone as many of us are at Christmas, be it by choice or not. We accept that the shops will close early.
Christmas Eve, for me, is permission to finally down tools, to relax after the relentlessness of
December, the constant messaging telling you that you should be buying, cooking, cleaning, decorating, redecorating.
It all stops on Christmas Eve, and you finally have permission to slow down and settle into the magic of Christmas, which is a time to step back from the world and switch off, be grateful for the things you have, and think about the year that has passed.
And denied the opportunity to keep burrowing deeper and deeper into the vortex of Christmas shopping chaos, we instead turn to the part of Christmas that is, to me, the most enjoyable bit: the people, the conversations, the family and friends, the visits, and particularly the unplanned meet-ups.
And something magical happens to time on Christmas Eve. I call it Santa time, the same wrinkle in time that allows Santa to deliver all of his presents to all of the children in the world in just one night.
But, I really believe that the magic of Santa time leaks over into real time, because after a frenetic month spent running around stressed and frantic trying to squeeze everything in, time finally relents and becomes compliant, elastic, benevolent, working with us instead of against us.
The mood lightens on Christmas Eve. For the first time since summer, there is a sense of possibility in the air. The spirit that animates all of those summer romances is back for one night only and twinkling through the air of pubs and bars and parties.
But it’s not just romantic possibility that reignites on Christmas Eve. It’s the possibility of all things, because on this night Christmas is still full of potential. Once Christmas Day and St Stephen’s Day pass, it’s all dénouement, really.
But on Christmas Eve, anything can still happen. Angels can get their wings, Scrooges can turn from miserable skinflints into generous benefactors. On Christmas Eve, people are open to the possibilities of letting the day take them where it might.
Walking through town to pick up a few last items, some dried flowers or an elusive sprig of thyme, you can be persuaded to pop into a pub for a glass of something with a friend you just bumped into and haven’t seen for ages.
No longer bad-tempered by being jostled in overheated shops, you are willing to be diverted, delayed, and carried along by the general spirit of things, afloat on a current of goodwill and festive camaraderie.
Because now, finally, you do have time to deviate from your plans, because what more can you do on Christmas Eve? There are no more work deadlines, no places to be, and your stuffing will cope without that sprig of thyme. Perfection is overrated anyway.
You stop to talk warm-heartedly with the bouncer on your way home and might even duck into the church, having not crossed its threshold of all year, but something about the falling light and the quieting streets makes you want to feel close to all of that again for a few hushed moments. And then home, hopefully to calm, peace, some special quality time.
This Christmas Eve, I am hoping that the house will be clean and warm, that there will be little work left to do, so I can savour the calm and peace, the enforced rest and reflection, that seem inaccessible at any other time of the year.
And this year, I’m going to do my best to stretch out that Christmas Eve Santa time and enjoy the feeling of endless possibility before the noise and fanfare of the big day arrive.
