Today I've learned that I don't really like holidays.

I didn't always feel indifferent toward special days. But as I get older, the feeling grows. I had these huge plans for my birthday and when it came, I wanted to keep it simple. Nothing traumatic happened on my birthday so it's not a trigger. I just don't put it on a pedestal anymore. The same goes for every other holiday.

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy the days off, the lifted spirits, food, decorations and togetherness. But take all that away and it's just a trumped up day. Or series of days.
It's also a marker of all the tasks you haven't finished. All the ideas you said would be off the ground. It can add to my inner doubts. Then there's the assumption that everyone wants to go home for the holidays. I don't. Home is where my family memories are and I'm not willing to go back happily.

It's not that I hate my family. It's that I've finally come into my own and whenever I go home I feel like I have to shrink in order for everything to go smoothly. I've been reveling in my personal identity that the idea of putting it on a shelf to appease them seems like a setback waiting to happen. Every time I put down my shield, someone with my blood stabs me. Sometimes I wish I didn't distrust my family. Ideally I want to feel comfortable and cultivate full relationships. But the reality of the situation doesn't change just because we sit around a table and say what we're thankful for.

Maybe the magic of these cold days off has worn off. Or maybe I simply grew up and decided to collect a check or catch some much needed sleep.