Xmas Cards

Can we talk about Christmas cards for a minute? For those of you who never miss sending an annual Xmas card, complete with updated pictures of your dazzling progeny on the fabulous bespoke vacation you took to the Azores, and a quick handwritten and personalized summary of the Nobel Prize your spouse won, and how you successfully cloned your dog, Skippy, for the third time? GFY. 

Not sure what that acronym means? Give it a minute, it will come to you.

I get it: Xmas cards are to be shared amongst friends. It is a way to catch up without having to actually send a text (so inconvenient). Sending Xmas cards makes us immune to the guilt that we feel when we haven’t really been as good a friend as we want to be. So if I do send a card, well, there you go: I’m thinking about you, friend. I’ve checked the annual box.

But here’s the messed-up part: if you were really my friend, you wouldn’t send me a Xmas card because you know how guilty it makes me feel to receive it. It is an annual reminder to feel awful because: a) you sent me a card, and b) I didn’t send one to you. I don't have the desire, time, energy, or inclination to find a nice family picture, write a nice note, compile a list of all of the people who sent us cards last year, find the best card design portal, seal the envelopes, or go to the post office.

Wait a minute: did you send me a Xmas card because, *gasp*, you actually despise me and want me to feel the debilitating guilt that I’m desperately trying to avoid?

So here lies the crux of the issue: I can’t bring myself to send the cards because it feels like I’m caving into someone else’s expectations around a meaningless social convention, or at least that’s what I tell myself. Nah, my punk rock roots are telling me to take a firm stance: I’m not going to play along. And I’m at peace with that, at least until I look in my mailbox and your Xmas card is there, and I mutter: GFY.