“And what happened, then? Well, in Whoville they say – that the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day. And then – the true meaning of Christmas came through, and the Grinch found the strength of ten Grinches, plus two!” This iconic quote from How the Grinch Stole Christmas! perfectly encapsulates a journey many undertake in understanding the holiday season. For years, Christmas wasn’t my favorite time of year. Like the Grinch, my heart felt a size too small for the festive cheer that enveloped everyone around me. Halloween, Thanksgiving, even the Fourth of July sparkled brighter in my personal holiday constellation. As a child, the surface-level excitement of Christmas Eve, Santa Claus, and shiny presents was undeniable, yet a deeper connection remained elusive.
My family’s background meant Christmas lacked the profound religious significance it holds for many. Nativity scenes were assembled with Playmobil figures, but the true essence of the story remained somewhat abstract. Embarrassingly mumbled lyrics during second grade music class highlighted my unfamiliarity with Christmas carols like “Jingle Bell Rock.” To my younger self, Christmas was primarily about the thrill of new toys and lavish meals – a delightful, albeit somewhat hollow, end to the year.
Our traditional Danish Christmas Eve feast was a highlight, featuring roasted duck, wild rice, cabbage, green beans, potato and apple galette, and prune and apple stuffing. This culinary masterpiece was always appreciated, yet a sense of unease began to creep in as I grew older.
Celebrating Christmas started to feel performative, like participating in a tradition that wasn’t truly mine. A sense of being an outsider, almost a thief of the holiday spirit, took root. December 25th morphed into a day tinged with guilt, a celebration of indulgence without genuine purpose. While I deeply appreciated my family’s efforts to create a festive atmosphere, the mountain of presents often evoked a conflicting mix of greed and selfish joy.
These uncomfortable feelings, I believe, fueled my growing aversion to Christmas. Jokingly branding myself a Scrooge, I’d feign annoyance at the ubiquitous Christmas music, constructing a Grinch-like persona to mask a deeper discomfort with my own participation in the holiday. It was a clumsy defense mechanism, shielding a more vulnerable feeling of inadequacy in embracing the Christmas spirit.
Then, something shifted. During a chilly mid-December walk with friends, crossing North Charles Street for a study break at Subway, “Jingle Bells” spontaneously escaped my lips. My friends’ amused reaction – “You’re not really a Scrooge. I knew it” – resonated more than they realized.
This year, a transformation occurred. Perhaps it’s simply maturity, or a newfound perspective gained from leaving home for college, but I’ve discovered a genuine appreciation for Christmas. My friends were right; the Grinch persona was just a facade. It took a semester away, a period of self-discovery, and observing the unbridled holiday spirit of others to unlock my own Christmas joy. Surrounded by new friends at Hopkins, I found myself not just participating in Christmas, but truly embracing it. I started proudly sharing my family’s unique traditions, from the annual escargot appetizer to the Danish flags adorning our Christmas tree. Hearing my hallmates’ and friends’ Christmas plans highlighted the significance of my own family rituals.
My understanding of Christmas expanded. It’s not confined to a single definition; it’s about connection and experiences. It can be quiet moments with family, acts of service through volunteering, or simply enjoying peaceful rest and indulging in holiday treats. Christmas became Secret Santa exchanges with hallmates, playfully making gingerbread men dance in the snow, and heartfelt goodbyes to friends departing for their own holiday homes. Christmas was the warmth of returning to a home filled with happiness and the simple pleasure of sipping peppermint coffee while watching loved ones open gifts.
This newfound wisdom about the holiday season feels profound, and I credit my experiences and friendships at Hopkins for this shift. This year, I delighted in finding thoughtful gifts, reveled in the Christmas Eve snowfall, and even attempted Mariah Carey’s vocal acrobatics in “All I Want for Christmas is You.” The presents under the tree no longer sparked feelings of guilt, but genuine joy. I happily participated in wrapping gifts (except my own, my family knows me too well!), and smiled while tackling dishes piled high with remnants of Christmas brunch.
Even now, as Christmas music fills the air while I write, it brings a sense of warmth, not irritation. Perhaps my “Grinchy heart” wasn’t small all along; maybe it simply needed the right experiences to grow. College, it seems, taught me not just academics, but also how to truly love and understand Christmas. And this year, I can confidently say, my Grinch heart grew, not just a little, but three sizes larger.
