Dear Me of Christmas Past, Present, and FUTURE (Part 3)

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Totter round the edge of the ice rink and know how lucky you are xx


“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!”

Dear Me of Christmas Future,

“And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.”

The nature of the beast is that we have no idea…but, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, I hope you are being kind to yourself. I hope you laugh more than you cry. Much more. I hope you dance often and still smile with reckless abandon…because you always did love Christmas. I hope you’re happy and I hope you finally let yourself be healthy. 

Be kind. You know the world is cruel, don’t let it make you bitter. I hope you’re planning one heck of a Christmas dinner – you missed out on more than your fair share. I hope adult you is having a drinks party. And if you haven’t got bubbles galore, I’m beginning to worry because something must have gone seriously array. I know big me will really love hosting and decorating - tastefully, of course. You’ll spend hours and hours, days and days, in the kitchen making mince pies and Christmas cake, volavonts and canapés. I hope you have Christmas pyjamas…and maybe slippers too. If you have little mini-mes, I hope you’ve been reading them many a Christmas story. And if you don’t, I hope you’ve read one or two anyway…you’re never too old for Christmas. You’re never too old to believe. And don’t forget, tracking Father Christmas is non-negotiable. 

Don’t lose sight of the excitement you felt, despite it all, because Christmas tradition is not a debatable matter. Let’s hope your little ones get a few more hours sleep than you ever seemed to manage! Let’s hope you are now able to get at least a few hours sleep. Wear glitter. You are never too old to sparkle…and if the world tells you otherwise, just smile and know you spent too long fading. 

I hope you’re surrounded by your nearest and dearest, every day. I hope some of them are the ones who’ve been there all the way – I hope you still know how lucky you are. Maybe you’re hosting Christmas Day? Make sure your parents stay the night – remember how much they wanted your grandparents to do so. Let dad take over in the kitchen – you know he knows best…humour him. 

Ice skate. Make a gingerbread house. And see the Christmas lights in as many towns and villages as you possibly can. Buy a bloody Barbour. Make paper snowflakes in front of the roaring fire - lots and lots and lots of them - and remember everything they signified that cold 1st December in your little Moberly Manor room, at the end of the first term, of your first year at uni. Go on long winter walks, feel the frost-hardened ground beneath your feet (hey, you never know, maybe there’ll be a cure for Raynaud’s by now!), wear mittens and bobble hats, have the wellies you love, warm up with hot chocolate and marshmallows…a biscuit for good measure. I hope you still live near the woods. And I hope you visit the coast at least once every winter – nothing beats a walk by the sea. 

Do not let growing up steal your spirit…everything is still magical if you believe it can be. Never stop loving wrapping presents – no matter how many hours, how much cellatape, how many awkwardly shaped presents. Play Christmas songs at every opportunity from 1st December (not before, we have to draw a line somewhere) – they’re classics for a reason and, to be honest, everyone loves a Christmas tune…even if they deny it profusely (yes, Hoff, I’m thinking of you). Go to London and visit old friends; don’t let the journey stress you out (maybe the M25 will have undergone improvements…?!). Buy, and drink, a Christmas coffee. It’ll be sickly sweet, but, after all, it is Christmas. 

Do NOT plan a January diet. And if you’ve joined the gym, I really, really hope you are brave enough and loved enough, and ultimately well enough, to know better. Go against the grain - it's important. Break society's rules on this one. No running machine can save you. No running machine will. You are enough for yourself…and I really hope, despite it all, you trust me enough to believe me. 

I imagine, or at least I hope to imagine, that somethings won’t change: I hope you still read plenty, and I hope you’ve asked for at least one book for Christmas. I hope you still love clothes…and I really hope you’re at least slightly closer to getting a wardrobe that houses all your outfits comfortably, and a bookcase that accommodates your undying passion for words. I hope words feature more than numbers. I hope you’re still as selfless as you try to be…but I hope you’ve learnt to take care of yourself too. I hope you’ve come to realise that the two are not mutually exclusive. I hope you still send shoeboxes, because you have always known that an act of kindness speaks a thousand words. 

You’re smarter than you know…and I hope you know that intelligence is not measured in grades alone. I’m pretty sure you now know that “intelligent” is not the most important thing to be. But I hope you’re in a job that makes you happy; and I hope you don’t dread getting out of bed every morning – little you would not have let that happen. If things aren’t great, I hope you have the courage to admit it, the bravery to seek support, the belief in your own potential, and the strength to fight. 
Wherever you are, whoever you’re with and whatever you’re up to, I hope you’re okay, and I hope you’ve never forgotten that, well, tradition is, and always will be, tradition.

“No space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused”. 

No. No regrets.

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