Monday

Last Monday, the 13th of December, about 9pm, Christmas music was forever ruined. It began with insomnia. I had slept fine between 6 and 7 that night, but when I went to bed at 8 I merely got tangled up in my blankets. So I was wide awake at 8:55 when a friend called, "Will you walk over to the president's house with me?" Every year, on the night before finals, the president opens his house for Christmas carols and cookies. Students gather for two hours, singing endless choruses of all the yuletide favorites. Seeing as I wasn't sleeping anyway, I consented. And now Christmas music is ruined.

We walked and talked with frostbitten breath until we reached the president's welcoming porch. Leah pushed open the door and I followed. A blast of Christmas cheer nearly toppled me back out the door. The room was fireside toasty and smelled like pines and cider. Every face was a beloved friend and every friend smiled back at me. They sang some carol at the top of their lungs, but I was too shocked to join them. A sensation I cannot justly describe so overwhelmed me that I'm sure I looked the idiot in my stupor. All I comprehended were three words: I finally belong.

Later in the week, amidst the stress of papers and tests and presents and goodbyes, a popular Christmas song came up on my playlist. I'm not sure which it was, but I could not stand it. It carried no power, no romance, no excitement. It was just a simple song, sung quaintly off key. I turned on U2 and forgot the carol instantly.

Reflecting later I decided I really had nothing against Christmas songs. Rather, I was just done with them. I've reached the climax; there's no possibility of any Christmas song ever comparing or exceeding those many carols that night. The emotions cannot be matched. It's as if every carol leading up to that night was a sign beside the path, enticing me further, each suggesting a greater joy; now that I've arrived at the glorious joy, I'll not consider the way again.