The Letter About the Letter
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The Letter About the Letter
John Paul Derryberry
I'm still determining if what I write will capture the magic of what I'm about to describe. Experiencing things first- hand is often the best way to capture the magic of moments. To say that in 2022, in a world seemingly more and more online, might be old-fashioned for me. But I'm telling you, there is magic in the air when we are in the same room. For about the better part of a decade, I have experienced the most "warms-my-heart" holiday tradition. Before my wife's family tears into the plethora of gifts under the tree, the Hansen family takes time to read a letter from Santa. I don't know when Santa decided to write to the Hansen's, nor do I care. I'm just glad to be a part of it.
This letter does what many other holiday letters we send across the globe do; captures the last 365 days in a written time capsule of what has occurred. The tree rings tell the story of growth from seedling to full-grown wood; these letters mark the tales of the Hansens through the years; never lies but maybe embellishments to spruce up the holiday cheer. Cynthia reads her family's trials, tribulations, successes, and failures as the matriarch. It's almost as if a tapestry is woven. An individual strand of our lives simultaneously reveals how we are connected. We are bound by the emotional ties family bonds create. What a beautiful tapestry Cynthia's words have woven!
Lay these letters end to end, and you have the story of one family, yet many lives. We have something innately human, not avoiding gaps, parts left out, stretches of the truth, and its errors. Yet it is one of my life's most intimate and beautiful moments every year. And that's because it's all those things. As much as we can scrub out the messiness of life, we should do that less. Life is at its best when we can make sense of the messiness, not airbrush it away. And still, it's my description that lacks something that the reading of the letter captures.
See, it's not just the letter; it's the pause of what is to come. We all take our places, shining new gifts wrapped perfectly under the tree. Hansen's wrapping talents have no equal. I finally wrapped a gift to their standards, and I have been around for 11 years. There's the tree, the lights, the lifelong collection of ornaments, the snow outside, the aroma of a fresh-brewed coffee, the excitement of new toys, books, and experiences that wait under that tree. The Hansens have found a way to linger at that moment and not rush-- take a breath and read from Santa what the jolly old man witnessed from this family this year. And that pause, that beautiful pause, is the magic of that letter.
It captures the anticipation of joy about to happen because opening gifts from loved ones is pure freaking joy and contrasts that with the journey the people in the room took to get there. It's that interaction that has had me shed a tear at everyone on one of these Santa's letters. I won't dare share the contents of any of these letters; they are not mine to share. Not that I would want to, because looking around that room at the moment the letter is read is one of the best moments every year of my life. And sometimes magic can only be felt and not shared. So this is my letter about the letter from Santa I get every year. I know I failed at capturing the magic. And that's because magic is never supposed to be captured. It's supposed to be experienced. And the best place to find it is by creating moments to linger in anticipation of joy. I found mine between the lines Dear Hansens and From Santa.
Happy Holidays everyone; I hope you felt some magic today.