The holiday season has arrived like an unexpected snowstorm, announcing itself with a burst of shopping frenzy and festive chaos, sweeping us up before we can catch our breath, pack away our summer sneakers, and button our coats. Every November, like clockwork, I’m surprised by how swiftly this time comes. ‘It was just September!’ I groan, ‘How are we putting up holiday decorations? How is it dark outside at 4 p.m?’ My initial reaction to this sudden onset of holiday-themed activity resembles that of the youngest child in a group – the one with the shortest legs – shouting breathlessly, “Guys! Guuuuys! Hold up!” as he trails behind the older kids, struggling to catch up but determined to try.
From now through the end of the year, it will be a whirlwind of activity and endless to-do lists, with only brief moments of respite – if we’re lucky. We might convince ourselves that it’s all necessary, all important. We don’t want to let anyone down or miss out on anything. But at what cost? What might we lose sight of when the pressure to do more peaks, and we run at full speed? What exactly are we chasing?
The cultural spell of busyness, achievement, and productivity has most of us convinced that the majority of our 4,500 or so weeks of life (if we’re fortunate enough to reach a ripe old age) should be spent striving, achieving, and ticking off tasks. In this view, permission to inhabit the here-and-now is granted only as long as we feel satisfied with the answer to the question, ‘How much did I accomplish today?’ Rest and enjoyment are seen as rewards for a job well done. This cultural conditioning is deeply rooted in capitalism. It is so pervasive, we all play an active role in perpetuating it. We even wear it as a badge of honor. ‘How are you today?’ we ask, and the response is almost always, ‘So busy!’ In our society, being busy has become a measure of worth, a sign that we are productive, important, and successful.
The focus on doing over being can become so ingrained that we forget to see the value in simply existing, experiencing, and connecting. It’s not that having goals, a to-do list, or a busy schedule is inherently problematic; the trouble is that, all too often, we become our to-do lists, unable to see our value beyond our output. In therapy, as I accompany clients in their efforts to make sense of their restlessness, anxiety, and guilt – so much guilt!, we frequently unearth the following painful and deeply held convictions:
- I deserve rest only if I’ve accomplished enough.
- I deserve love only if I meet society’s standards of success.
- I deserve happiness only if I am constantly striving to be better.
- And the ultimate: I am not enough.
The reaction to these beliefs is often to work harder, hoping we can somehow outsmart and outdo the maddening threat of inadequacy that accompanies them. What complicates this picture is that we enjoy the fleeting dopamine rush that comes from moments when we can say, ‘Ahhh, today I did so much. Look at me—tasks checked off, inbox empty. What a beautiful thing!’ We chase that high.
The holiday season can feel particularly overwhelming as the pressure to achieve more intensifies during this time – urging us to do more, buy more, attend more, and spruce up more – while at the same time our social media feeds, emails, and mailboxes flood us with images of seemingly effortless joy and messages to focus on the simple pleasures of togetherness and gratitude.
The reality is that you can’t race at a hundred miles per hour and smell the proverbial roses at the same time. One of the more painful consequences of our productivity-oriented way of living is that it can become more challenging to experience the state of calm we crave. This may look like buzzing with anxious energy when you are simply trying to enjoy a holiday show or a family dinner, or feeling so depleted that you are numb and disconnected from people you love and from your surroundings.
When we don’t intentionally discharge stress on a regular basis, it accumulates. Our body gets stuck in a “fight-flight-freeze” response, and the physiological changes which characterize this state – such as increased heart rate, heightened alertness, and the release of stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol – become chronic. Burnout, depression, anxiety, insomnia, physical health concerns, and a host of various other problems follow. The body’s natural survival mechanism, designed to prepare us to respond quickly to what should be fleeting moments of threat, starts to work against us.
We may try to run faster, but eventually, we will collapse. But what if there’s another way to approach this?
I’ll never forget one particular phone conversation I had with my father as a young adult. At the time, I was struggling to find my footing as both a college student and a newcomer to the United States. Determined and ambitious, but also exasperated, and more than a little terrified, I complained to him, “I can’t keep up with this race. They – my peers, my classmates – are doing so much, going so fast. I just can’t do it!” My father’s response was simple but profound, and it has stayed with me ever since: “Are you sure you’re meant to participate in a race in the first place? Are you meant to run the same race as others, or even head in the same direction?”
What I’ve learned is that when we outsource what we should think, feel, or do to others – news, social media, family, friends, coworkers, all manner of opinions and expectations from others, you name it – we eventually lose touch with ourselves. This doesn’t happen overnight; it’s a gradual, barely perceptible loss. We think we know who we are, what matters to us, and what we feel, but in reality, we get out of the habit of asking ourselves these deeper questions and actually taking time to listen for the answers. Instead we are busy following the crowd, convinced that we/they have it all figured out. The crowd is not always heading in the direction that is right for you – but how can you know that unless you reconnect with a deep curiosity about yourself and the things your mind, heart, body, and spirit are trying to tell you?
This matters not only because our disconnection from ourselves can rob us of the aliveness and worthiness that are our birthright, but also because it prevents us from living more authentically, making choices that align with our true values, and forming more meaningful connections with others. Instead, we speed on autopilot, collectively fostering agitation, disconnection, and overwhelm.
When I first became a therapist, like many emerging clinicians, I had the misconception that my task was to have the answers. Over the years, I learned that some of the most transformative moments in therapy come when people find the courage and willingness to cultivate a practice of asking themselves questions about who they are and how they are choosing to live out those 4,500 weeks of life. In her famous poem The Summer Day, poet Mary Oliver captures the immense gift and potential we have in our capacity for self-reflection and wonder:
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
The questions, even more so than the answers, help us recognize our free will – reminding us that in any given moment, we have the power to choose our response.
If you long for more joy and connection this time of year, allow yourself to become something of an everyday philosopher. Start by reflecting on the kind of holiday season you most deeply wish for, tread with gentle curiosity, and you may discover a greater sense of connection, belonging, and clarity than you ever imagined. Now, that is some true holiday magic.
