Christmas Lights

We’re moving into everyone’s favorite time of year here at the Dillaway house. I was feeling a bit under the weather this weekend, and yet, with no reminders whatsoever, the house got decorated from head to toe by the girls, with Forrest on assistance. (Except for putting the lights on the tree. When I tried to explain to him my patented zig-zag method, he rolled his eyes and handed me the string of lights.) And after the dreariness of late fall, seeing the Christmas lights go up around town is a welcome sight.

People really get into Christmas lights around here. We live really far north, farther than Minneapolis and Fargo, farther north than all but the very tip of Maine. The sea air keeps everything pretty temperate here, but that doesn’t change the fact that on the winter solstice, the day only lasts 8 1/2 hours. It’s dark, and people try to push back the darkness with whatever they can. Most people around here put up lights, and more than a few go, well, they go overboard.

There’s a part of it that feels so futile. Some Christmas lights are supposed to make up for the fact that it’s dark when the kids go to school and almost dark when they come home? Some LEDs are going to help us ignore the rain and wind and most of all, clouds, clouds, clouds? It’s a small gesture, that’s for sure. And probably people don’t think very hard about it.

But if they did, if we did, we might see that putting up tiny colored lights in the middle of the darkest time of year is one of the things that connects humanity. Many, many cultures have festivals of light that occur in the late fall, as the last vestiges of the harvest die away. They light lanterns or oil lamps or candles or, yes, some LEDs ordered off Amazon.

None of them actually provide much meaningful light. Even the largest bonfire only lights up a dozen feet in each direction. So why do we do it?

Of course, I don’t know the real answer. I don’t even know if there is a knowable real answer. Maybe, though, we don’t light them to kill the darkness. We light them because the darkness is pervasive, and our little lights are the best way to find each other.

We know that each of those little lights was lit by another human, a human like us who is trying to make the best of a bad situation. Who is going to try, against all odds, to make a grubby, wet, cloudy place seem jolly and warm.

And it’s working. My kids love driving around at night, looking at all the lights. Even the people like us, who only put up a few strands. But it reminds me that other people are doing their best. Some years are harder than others. For our family, right now, things are not simple, or easy. But when I look out of the windows at night, and see all the neighbors lights shining against the dark, I’m reminded that I am anything but alone.