Far away from the stores... but still not far enough.
The headlines read, Storm hits East Coast, and then, Snowstorm may curb weekend sales. This is national news. Big time. A friend writes, “Perhaps the snow will keep people home instead of out shopping for more things they do not need.”
It did not. The storm did not amount to much for many. The following day, the same friend writes, “We only got an inch. I’m heading out in the car and going shopping…”
I smile. This is Christmas. But I wonder: when and why did it become the season of shopping? We’d rather spend our precious time (not to mention our monies) out shopping for someone, rather than spending that same time with them. Does this, perchance, seem a bit odd?
Ok, it’s Christmas. This is America. We shop. We consume. Do we stop to look around, to listen, to slow down and perhaps give the gift of time… or are we too busy shopping?
Oh, I know it does feel wonderful to give, even if what I am giving is a store bought gift. And in a convoluted way, of course, this still represents time: time spent working in an office to earn monies to pay for the gas to get to the store to buy the gift… It is complicated.
Perhaps I’m not patriotic enough. It is Christmas and I have not been in a store since… since…when was the last time I was in town? Last month some time, I suppose?
Now I can’t claim innocence here. I am as guilty as the rest for falling into the trap of the Christmas spirit fashioned by shopping. Remember, one can shop on the internet… even out here (though the packages don’t get delivered out this far in the winter!). And I did. There will be presents under the tree, though few and practical, at least this is what I strive for.
Time. Time spent cleaning cabins, and fixing clogged drains, and hammering nails, and hanging curtains and saddling up a string of horses early in the morning to pay for the shiny packages stacked beneath the tree.
Time. Time that could be spent talking just a little longer at the dinner table. Baking. Taking walks in the softly falling snow together. Reading by the fire. What is more important? I have to question myself in order to remind myself. Time for the simple things goes against what is instilled in us.
It is easier here to find alternatives to the emptiness we fill with objects, with shopping. I have tried to find these things everywhere. Even in New York City. I could climb to the roof top or go by the West Piers and watch the sun set. Yes, I would. It is a miracle to watch, even there. Anywhere. In Greece, I would sleep on the beach in order to see the same sun rising over one side of the island as the full moon would set simultaneously over the other side. A minute that seemed to last for hours. Or sit in the cold sands in the desert of New Mexico and await the rising of the big moon amongst the scorpions and rattlesnakes.
I have tried to find alternatives. They are everywhere though I have often forgotten to look, or became too busy, or the view obscured by obstacles I created, and could not get myself to clear in order that I may see the view before me.
It is free. It is everywhere. It only takes time.
Time is money, we are told over and over again. I say it myself regularly. Time is money? Or is money time? Another value put on the most valuable of substances. Time.
Money. How much our lives are held by its strings playing us like puppets. If we sever the cords, we fall. It seems we can never fully live without.
I dreamed of being a female Jeremiah Johnson and leaving it all behind…
I still dream.
Perhaps I should dream even more.
