Allow Yourself Some Happiness

 Wow. Here we are again. Is it just me, or does time feel like it’s moving faster every year? It seems like only yesterday I was sitting in this same spot, thinking many of the same thoughts.

Christmas has a way of inviting reflection. For some, that’s comforting. For others, it carries a quiet sadness. I’ve often puzzled over the melancholy that can settle over me like a blanket during the Christmas season, even in the middle of all the festivities.

I’ve shared this story before, but it still resonates. As a kid, I remember being at family gatherings with uncles, aunts, and cousins. Singing carols was always part of the day. During those songs, I noticed one particular uncle who often had tears in his eyes. I didn’t understand it then. I do now.

I don’t spend much time singing carols these days, but even a song on the radio can trigger the same response in me. It’s been said that music creates a pathway to reflection. Maybe that’s it. Or maybe it’s the shorter days. Or memories of loved ones who are no longer with us. Or the hype and heightened expectations of the season. Or the loneliness that can feel sharper when everyone around us seems especially joyful.

I suppose I could just say “Bah humbug” and leave it at that. But that’s not my intent. This is simply an acknowledgement that certain times of year stir nostalgia and sadness in many of us.

The good news is that there are also things that bring comfort and joy. I think there’s a song about that.

The following poem is one I like to share at this time of year. Maybe I’m drawn to it because it touches on three areas I work with often: stress management, conflict, and family relationships.

Enjoy. And make it a good one.

Put your problems on probation
Run your troubles off the track,
Throw your worries out the window
Get the monkeys off your back.
Silence all your inner critics
With your conscience make amends,
And allow yourself some happiness
It's Christmas time again!

Call a truce with those who bother you
Let all the fighting cease,
Give your differences a breather
And declare a time of peace,
Don't let angry feelings taint
The precious time you have to spend,
And allow yourself some happiness
It's Christmas time again!

Like some cool refreshing water
Or a gentle summer breeze,
Like a fresh bouquet of flowers
Or the smell of autumn leaves,
It's a banquet for the spirit
Filled with family, food and friends,
So allow yourself some happiness
It's Christmas time again!
                                Bob Lazzar-Atwood

Just One More Week

 I suspect that title caught your attention. It sounds a bit like I’m counting down the days to something wonderful. Like I’m waiting with bated breath for a big event. Maybe even Christmas. And for a moment, some of you might be thinking, Well good for him — a little holiday cheer.

But if you know me at all, you might already be questioning that assumption. This time of year tends to land heavy for me. And I know I’m not alone in that. The days are cold. Snow settles in and doesn’t seem to leave. The trees are bare. The daylight shrinks a little more each day. Some days it feels like it disappears altogether. Sunshine becomes more of a rumour than a reality. If Vitamin D were a crop, we’d be reporting a total failure.

George Harrison seemed to understand that feeling when he wrote Here Comes the Sun. Life had been wearing on him. Things weren’t as simple as they used to be. In his autobiography he wrote, “It seems as if winter in England goes on forever; by the time spring comes you really deserve it.” No, I haven’t read the book. Chatgpt is a wonderful thing.

So what is it about this season that brings so much gloom along with the snow? We blame the weather. We blame the darkness. We complain about winter dragging on forever even though, technically, it has barely begun. More than a few of us, myself included, would happily fast-forward through December if that were an option.

And then there are the expectations. The so-called festive season arrives with a long to-do list: buying gifts, attending parties, putting up decorations, preparing meals, hosting gatherings, making sure everything feels “special.” We have to do this. We have to go there. We have to make it magical, especially for the kids. Somewhere along the way, what we’d like to do quietly slips to the bottom of the list. It gets exhausting.

The lights go up. The music plays. Commercials promise magic, if only we’d spend a hundred dollars here, or a thousand there. Put up the tree. Hang the lights. Turn up the volume. Surely the feeling will follow.

Which brings us back to the contradiction of the title. You probably thought I was building toward some excitement about Christmas. And then I grumbled my way through it. So what on earth could I possibly be excited about a week from now?

The winter solstice. The days start getting longer. That’s it. That’s the big event.

I have a system for surviving winter, and it comes in three basic blocks. First, the solstice, proof that the darkness has peaked and we’re heading in the right direction. Next, the end of January, when daytime temperatures usually start to inch upward. And finally, March, when you can see the end and almost feel spring in the air.

So yes, just one more week. I can do this. Now to work on my Christmas spirit.

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The Limitations We Place on Others (and Ourselves)

 Yesterday, while aimlessly scrolling through social media, I came across a quote that stopped me in my tracks: "People will try to put the same limitations on you that they put on themselves."

I read it, scrolled on, but then something made me pause. There’s truth in it, but it felt a little judgmental. The wording suggested blame, as if someone was deliberately projecting their limitations onto you. So I reversed it in my head: “I put the same limitations on others as I put on myself.” Suddenly, it made more sense. And, of course, later in the day, I experienced exactly that.

This winter I have the opportunity to do some traveling to talk with farming groups about mental wellbeing. One of those invitations takes me to Gander, Newfoundland. As I quickly realized, getting there isn’t the easiest journey. It requires careful planning and, if I’m honest, a level of stress I hadn’t anticipated.

Here’s another piece to the story. Over the past few years, I’ve become more uptight about traveling. In years past, planning a trip was simple and even exciting. Airports were gateways to adventure, and flights were just another part of the journey. These days, the thought of flying sends my anxiety into overdrive. And now, there’s an added layer: my wife retired earlier this year and wants to travel with me.

In the past, I would have simply found the quickest, cheapest, and most efficient way to get somewhere and back. Now, with my wife involved, the planning process becomes a collaboration. And booking airline tickets online can test the patience of even the calmest person. So, tensions were high before we even began. Full disclosure: it was me. My stress quickly escalated, and before long, the conversation deteriorated to the point where both of us felt like walking away.

As I scrolled through endless flight options, losing my way on the website and ending up with routes that would take me anywhere but Gander, I realized something. I needed an attitude adjustment. This happens sometimes, usually too late in the process, but better late than never.

I stopped and reflected. My wife was approaching this as a trip, something to be experienced, perhaps even enjoyed. I, on the other hand, was trapped in my old way of thinking: get there, do my job, get back home. Cheap, fast, efficient. But not necessarily pleasant.

Once I recognized the difference in perspectives, everything shifted. We talked openly about what we each wanted from this trip. Suddenly, we became more adept at working together, even the website seemed easier to navigate.

It hit me then: I had been putting my limitations on my wife. My stress, my anxiety, my rigid expectations, weren’t just my own. I had unconsciously projected them onto her. By acknowledging it, I could let go of those limitations and approach the planning, and the trip itself, with curiosity, openness, and maybe even a little enjoyment.

This little episode reminded me of a simple truth about life and mental wellbeing. Our frustrations and anxieties often spill over onto those around us. Sometimes it’s subtle, sometimes it’s glaring. But when we pause, reflect, and shift our perspective, we not only free ourselves, we create space for connection, understanding, and collaboration.

So, as I continue planning this winter’s trips, I’m carrying that lesson with me. I’m trying to remember: the limitations we feel are often our own And the ones we place on others? They can be unlearned, one thoughtful conversation at a time.

Want to stay connected? Visit my website here: https://www.gerryfriesen.ca/