Remember those childhood Christmases when the world seemed to pause, just for a little while? Snow blanketing everything in quiet white, the smell of fresh pine filling the house, and that unmistakable feeling that, at least for a few days, people were kinder to one another.
I still catch myself thinking about those times, especially now. These days, the holiday season often feels like it’s walking a tightrope over a sea of tension. What used to bring us together somehow highlights how far apart we’ve drifted.
The Changing Face of Holiday Spirit
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when things shifted. Maybe it crept in gradually, or perhaps there was a moment we all missed. But somewhere along the way, the shared joy of the season started getting tangled up in bigger arguments about identity, history, and power.
Don’t get me wrong—Christmas lights still sparkle, carols still play, and families still gather. Yet there’s an undercurrent now, a sense that even this time of year isn’t safe from the culture wars that dominate everything else.
In my experience, people aren’t necessarily less generous or caring. They’re just exhausted. Tired of walking on eggshells, tired of every tradition being scrutinized, tired of feeling like expressing simple goodwill might somehow offend someone.
When Traditions Become Battlegrounds
Think about public displays of the season. What used to be uncontroversial—a nativity scene in a town square, a Christmas tree in a school hallway—can now spark heated debates. Groups challenge these symbols in courts, arguing they cross some invisible line between church and state.
And it’s not just legal battles. There’s a broader hostility sometimes directed toward faith itself. Places of worship have faced vandalism, especially in recent years, often tied to historical grievances that get weaponized against present-day communities.
It’s heartbreaking, really. Symbols meant to represent hope and peace end up becoming flashpoints for anger. Instead of drawing people closer, they push them further apart.
Christmas is a necessity. There has to be at least one day of the year to remind us that we’re here for something else besides ourselves.
– Eric Sevareid
That quote has stuck with me for years. Because when we lose sight of that “something else,” the whole season starts to feel hollow.
The Erosion of Shared Moments
Perhaps the most interesting aspect is how we’ve lost those small, everyday rituals that used to bind neighborhoods together. Remember when people actually dropped by unannounced with a plate of cookies? Or when caroling wasn’t seen as strange or intrusive?
Now, we’re more likely to connect through screens than front doors. And those screens? They’re designed to keep us scrolling through outrage, not warmth. The algorithms know conflict keeps us engaged longer than kindness ever could.
It’s created this weird paradox: we’re more connected than ever, yet many feel more isolated during the holidays than at any other time of year.
- Fewer impromptu visits from neighbors
- More online arguments about holiday “correctness”
- Traditions questioned instead of celebrated
- Charity sometimes viewed through cynical lenses
- Simple greetings like “Merry Christmas” becoming politically charged
These aren’t just my observations. Talk to almost anyone over forty, and they’ll tell similar stories. The season hasn’t vanished—it’s just harder to feel its heart anymore.
Why Civility Matters More Than Ever
Here’s where I get a bit personal. I’ve found that real civility isn’t about agreeing with everyone. It’s not even about being nice all the time. It’s about recognizing that the person across from you is human, with their own stories, hurts, and hopes.
In a world quick to cancel or condemn, choosing basic respect feels almost radical. But that’s exactly why it’s so powerful—especially during a season that’s supposed to be about light breaking into darkness.
Civility creates space. Space for disagreement without hatred. Space for different traditions without demanding conformity. Space for people to simply be, without constant judgment.
Christmas is not a time nor a season, but a state of mind. To cherish peace and goodwill, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas.
– Calvin Coolidge
Coolidge nailed it. When we approach the holidays with that state of mind, something shifts. The pressure to have the perfect celebration eases. The need to win every argument fades. What remains is room for genuine connection.
Practical Ways to Bring Back the Warmth
So how do we actually do this? How do we push back against the tide of division and reclaim some of that old magic? It starts small—deliberately small.
First, consider hosting something simple. Not a lavish party, but an open house where people can drop by for an hour or two. Set one ground rule: no politics. Just conversation, laughter, maybe some music. You’d be surprised how refreshing that feels to people starved for normal human interaction.
Or reach out to someone you haven’t spoken to in years. Not with an agenda, just to say you’re thinking of them. I’ve done this, and the responses are almost always overwhelmingly positive. People want connection—they’re just afraid to initiate it.
- Plan one low-pressure gathering this season
- Invite a mix of people who might not normally interact
- Focus on shared experiences rather than differences
- Let conversations flow naturally without forcing “deep” topics
- End the evening grateful for the simple fact that it happened
Another approach: get involved in hands-on giving. Not just writing a check (though that’s great too), but actually showing up somewhere. Serve at a shelter. Help with a toy drive. Deliver meals. There’s something about physical acts of service that cuts through cynicism like nothing else.
When you’re elbow-deep in helping others, it’s hard to maintain the luxury of resentment. Plus, these activities naturally create bonds between volunteers who might otherwise never cross paths.
The Power of Personal Reflection
Sometimes the most countercultural thing you can do is slow down. In a season of frantic shopping and social obligations, choosing quiet reflection feels almost rebellious.
Read something that stirs the soul. Maybe an old favorite like A Christmas Carol—Dickens understood redemption better than most modern writers. Or poetry that captures the wonder of the season. Let yourself feel things without immediately analyzing or critiquing them.
Attend a service or concert, even if you’re not particularly religious. There’s something about collective singing—real voices, not recorded tracks—that reminds us we’re part of something larger.
Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.
– Norman Vincent Peale
That “magic wand” effect isn’t gone. It’s just waiting for us to create the conditions where it can work again.
Navigating Technology’s Double-Edged Sword
Let’s be honest—our devices are part of the problem. They’re amazing for staying connected across distances, but terrible at fostering genuine understanding up close.
The trick is using technology intentionally rather than habitually. Call someone instead of texting. Share actual memories rather than performative posts. Step away from feeds that profit from your anger.
One practice I’ve adopted: during December, I limit my time on platforms that reward outrage. Instead, I use my phone to coordinate real-life meetups or send personal messages. The difference in how the season feels is dramatic.
Looking Ahead with Cautious Hope
As we head into another new year—one that will surely bring its own challenges—I’m choosing cautious optimism. Not the naive kind that pretends problems don’t exist, but the realistic sort that believes small acts of decency still matter.
Because here’s what I’ve learned: cultures don’t change through grand pronouncements or viral moments. They shift through millions of quiet choices—someone deciding to listen instead of lecture, to extend grace instead of judgment, to prioritize relationship over being right.
Maybe that’s the real gift we can give this year. Not more stuff, not better arguments, but a deliberate return to treating each other like neighbors rather than opponents.
It won’t fix everything. Division runs deep, and healing takes time. But every time someone chooses civility over contempt, the season gets a little brighter. And perhaps, slowly, we remember what made it the most wonderful time of the year in the first place.
After all, light doesn’t need to overwhelm darkness to make a difference. It just needs to keep shining.
What about you? How are you navigating the holidays this year? I’d love to hear your thoughts—maybe we can remind each other that the old warmth isn’t as far away as it sometimes feels.
