pre-holiday melancholy
Dear friends,
Almost exactly 37 years ago, it was finals week of the fall semester of my sophomore year at Texas A&M University. I don’t remember exactly what day of the week it was, but I do remember that it was the day of my last exam before leaving for the winter break. It was drizzly and cold — that sort of miserable, foggy, spitting-rain winter day that College Station was sometimes known for. And I was in a foul mood.
I was walking back to my dorm after taking my exam, and I had no clue how I’d done: it was one of my first real engineering classes, although for the life of me, as I sit here I can’t remember what subject it was. All I do remember is that I’d spent an inordinate amount of time studying for it, and now that it was over, I had no feel for whether I’d aced it or failed it miserably. This seriously pissed me off — all that work, and no certainty for how I’d done. As I walked across campus — and let me tell you, Texas A&M’s campus is huge — I just got angrier and angrier. Angry at the weather, at the fact that the exam was challenging, everything.
Because it was the end of the semester, the campus was quiet: everyone was either in their exams, or had already left for the holiday. I was walking alone, when suddenly I heard something. As I squinted through the fog, I realized that it was a student — a grad student, maybe, he seemed older — walking towards me.
He was whistling Silent Night — the clearest, truest whistle I’d ever heard. And in the quiet of the foggy, drizzly campus, it was beautiful.
It was then that I remembered that it was Christmastime, my favourite holiday. I was leaving that afternoon to return to my parents’ home, for a few weeks of calm and family, food and celebration. For better or for worse, the semester was over, and I didn’t have to think about books or exams or anything for a while.
And my mood completely changed.
This week is “finals week” — Alex is wrapping up the fall semester of her freshman year at university, before returning to Houston at the end of this week, and our entire family will be off work and school for the rest of 2022. This morning, Marcus checked in with Alex on our family group-chat, and she responded that Chicago was cold, she had class all day, and had pulled an all-nighter last night.
Man, I’ve been there.
That pre-holiday melancholy is no joke. But even as I’m focused on getting my own projects wrapped up this week, I realize that 37 years ago wasn’t the last time I’d felt that melancholy: it feels like every year around this time, I’m focused on big projects that need to be put to bed, ahead of the holiday week. I suspect we all feel it at some point.
But every year around this time — for the past thirty-seven years — I remember the moment I witnessed that graduate student, peacefully whistling Silent Night with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets for warmth, a soft smile on his face. And I remember that a similar feeling isn’t too far ahead: there’ll come a moment when our family is together, and we can take some time to rest and celebrate.
Only a few more days.
You gotta get past the prickly bit.