We’ve been doing secret santa at school since Thanksgiving. I’ve been very lucky in that I drew the name of a woman whom I think is “good people.” I can’t say that I know her very well, but since August, I have not seen her upset, grumpy, or looking worn out in anyway. That may be due, in part, that I strongly suspect that she may just be passed her PMS days which are the days that I invariably feel upset, grumpy and worn out. But that is really neither here nor there.
Now, I have been approaching this secret Santa thing a little differently. Instead of just leaving gifts, I’ve been leaving little stories, or copies of one of my blogs. I’ve been taking this opportunity to share something of myself, more than just a few gifts. But on the off chance that she didn’t appreciate my humor or gift for gab, I’ve left most stories with a small gift of some type. I left her the story about my grandma’s house with a canister of ribbon candy.
Anyway, I told another coworker that I feel like the whole secret Santa thing is a bit like flirting, in a weird way; perhaps because my idea of flirting closely resembles stalking – see my story about meeting Jose early in the blog history. It’s leaving these little gifts that you think will just make them happy if only for a second. It’s like those little gifts that your boyfriend, lover, or husband leaves you unexpectedly on your pillow, or brings home at the end of the day. It’s the surprise of it and the thoughtfulness – perhaps not the oh it was just what I wanted, but more the you thought of me in the middle of your day – when I wasn’t with you – that seems to envelop me.
I also suppose that it is the giving of gifts that I enjoy so much. I have not been nearly excited to receive gifts from my secret Santa. Though I do look at my mailbox with a bit of longing each day as I walk past the office. There is a moment of joy when you see that little gift just sitting there. It’s an uplifting experience. But I have really enjoyed trying to figure out what type of gifts to give to my secret Santa. To create a theme of sorts and find ways to share it with this stranger – and allowing the anonymity of it all to be an excuse to lay it out on the table – to share more of myself than I would have perhaps normally have done.
It is, at 38, a recapturing of my late teens and early 20’s when you’d meet someone new and spend all night at a coffee shop talking and getting to know each other – without any of the life that has collected and clung in the interim. A chance to be me: not mother, not wife, not teacher . . . just me. And there is joy there.
