Our Skull-Sized Kingdoms
The late, great writer David Foster Wallace once said we have the freedom to be the “lords of our own tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the center of all creation.” Twenty centimeters or a little more than seven and a half inches from ear to ear. That’s the size of our kingdoms. Not a lot of real estate there, but to us it’s an entire universe and we’re in charge. I’ve been taking that to heart lately as I once again work on making meaning and find gratitude in the winter holiday season.
If I had been engaged in this Inquiry Into A Gratitude-Inspired Life thirty-five or maybe forty years ago, I would have had to confront my burgeoning hatred, disgust and resentment of what I saw as the huge commercialized hoax called Christmas before it really took root in my life. I would have been challenged to take a look at how I was stressing everything that sucked and not asking “What’s great about this?”
Moving to the Bay Area in the early 90s, Karen and I finally just became Christmas dropouts. We celebrated like our Jewish friends, going out for Chinese food, and we went to movies and had absolutely nothing to do with any of it. We sent no cards, we gave no gifts, including my own children, my mom, my brother, any one in my family, probably most of whom will never understand why I turned into an asshole about it.
Over the years, however, maybe because we gave ourselves permission to do what was in our hearts, a funny thing happened. We started to appreciate some aspects of the season in a new way. I found myself admitting that I enjoyed the lights as they multiplied day after day. I enjoyed the music, even some of the kitschy stuff, and I enjoyed thinking about the fact that the holiday was deeply meaningful for many people in my life. That’s the lesson I missed all those years ago. I was absolutely stressing all the crap and not looking around at what was wonderful about the season. I didn’t give myself a chance to imbue this day with my own meaning. There is the lesson for gratitude seekers.
There is real sweetness about this time of year, now that I have eyes to see it again.
No matter where one is on the continuum of belief in biblical inerrancy or historicity, it’s fair to say that nowhere in scripture is there any meaning assigned to the date of December 25th, which is also an artifice created by humanity. No one has any idea when this birth took place. I know my son was born on December 20th, there’s a birth certificate, and I was in the room when it happened. That day is meaningful to me.
Macrina Wiederkehr, the Benedictine Monastic, wrote that “Holiness comes wrapped in the ordinary. There are burning bushes all around you. Every tree is full of angels. Hidden beauty is waiting in every crumb.”
Meaning is everything and we get to declare it. We get to because we are the lords of our own skull-sized kingdoms.
