Last Wednesday was just like any other workday Wednesday. Unless you're an administrative professional (or secretary, assistant, receptionist, clerk/typist, office manager, or office slave) like me. For us, it's our national holiday (though, naturally, everything's open, there's mail for us to sort, and it's business as usual), a day to celebrate the uncelebrated, recognize the unrecognized, acknowledge the unacknowledged, and appreciate the (often) unappreciated. Every year without fail during the five years of my secretarial career, despite approaching the day with low expectations (as I approach most days, to be honest), I've been surprised, feted, and, frankly, spoiled by coworkers and supervisors. I've received chocolates, flowers, plants, handmade ceramic mugs, cards, and many, many kind words. That's a lot of fuss for someone who isn't used to being fussed over. (I imagine most administrative professionals aren't.) So I approached this year with similarly low expectations (I didn't want to be disappointed by expecting too much, you know), while also hoping my coworkers wouldn't go to too much trouble on my account. When you're a socially-anxious introvert, even a bit of positive attention can feel like too much attention. (And let's face it, I'm still eating chocolate from Halloween, Christmas, and Valentine's Day, so the last thing in the world I need is more chocolate...) To my surprise, my supervisor and coworkers trickled in one by one without a word as to the day's significance. Apparently it existed only in my mind. No cards, no gifts, no acknowledgement. It truly was just a hectic but ordinary Wednesday during a very busy time of the year. At first, it was funny, and I managed a few private chuckles at my own expense. But the more I brooded (I'm a world-class brooder), the worse I felt. (It stands to reason.) I tried to comfort myself with a splash of dark humor. After all, it seems fitting for employees who feel forgotten and unacknowledged every other day of the year to be forgotten and unacknowledged on our special day. It sucked, though. I think I realize now how it must feel for someone to be ignored by their partner on Valentine's Day (which can be avoided by being single for every Valentine's Day!) or for a mom or dad to be unacknowledged by their children on Mother's Day or Father's Day. For me, though, still trying to find humor, it also brought to mind the 1980s film "Sixteen Candles," in which the main character, Samantha, is totally ignored by her entire family, including, shockingly, her grandparents. ("Grandparents forgetting a birthday? They live for that s***!"), her milestone birthday forgotten.
In hindsight, it's not really a big deal. I'm not going to dwell on
the events (or lack thereof) of one single day. What matters is every
other day. I'm thankful to have a job and coworkers that I like, even if
I'm not always (or ever) acknowledged for my work. What's important is
that I feel like I'm making a positive difference and that I acknowledge
myself for what I do. If I'm secure in that, then I don't need pats on
the back, cards, flowers, or chocolates (though I won't turn them away). Oh, well. Back to business (as usual).
When exactly did holidays become something to dread rather than enjoy? When did they become arguably more trouble than they're worth? My mom summed it up yesterday, immediately following the conclusion of a delicious Easter feast and its cleanup, with the following: "I'm glad that's over!" I have to confess I've had the same or similar thoughts regarding recent holidays, though I did enjoy Easter (a little too much, to be honest, judging by the shocking amount of food that landed on and quickly left the plate of this usually health-conscious eater). Normally it's the anticipation of a special day that excites me, sometimes more than the main event itself. And then in the midst of the festivities, I'd prefer that it all be over as quickly as possible, and I start plotting my escape. Perhaps that's human nature, wanting something until you get it. ("When I get what I want/I never want it again," as Courtney Love sang in "Violet.") That happened to me on Christmas Day last year. As I wrote here, the anticipation was long-lasting and sweet. It wasn't about gifts, as it was when I was younger, but about quality time with family spent reflecting on the day's true meaning (while eating vast quantities of succulent food past the point of discomfort, of course). Then the big day arrived with a black cloud over it. I felt out of sorts and increasingly irritated with everyone and everything. The worst part was I couldn't really pinpoint a cause; it was just a combination of apathy and annoyance that made me think I should find a way to be alone ASAP before I managed to express those feelings to someone around me. (I think most introverts are probably very familiar with this sensation.)
Sometimes holiday blues have obvious triggers, like loss of a loved one due to death, divorce, or breakup, or financial issues that make gift-giving and feasting a challenge. But for me it was like the more I tried to think about how grateful I was - and should be - for all that's good in my life, the more irritable I felt. Maybe I should Google "holiday apathy" or "holiday blues" to confirm that I'm not alone in my holiday struggles. I'm sure I'm not. Perhaps there are online chat forums and support groups that could offer insight on why we feel this way. It might be as simple as holiday overstimulation, and the hyper-excitement I felt as a child can now be tolerated only in small doses as an adult.
There's no denying that holidays do require more work of adults than children. When I think of holidays now, especially the gift-giving ones, there's a lot of fretful planning involved: What will I buy? What will I cook and bake? When will I do the food prep? I never worried about these things as a kid because I didn't have to. Adults brought the holiday fun to me by doing all the work. I suppose it's like going to work in Santa's workshop and realizing that there's hard work involved instead of magic. Someone has to create what seems effortless to you. That might be at least one reason why my mom and I and others are tired of holidays. Too much stress and work and not enough magic.
As happy as I am to flip the calendar page from March to April, I must confess that April Fools' Day is one of my least favorite days each year. (It's right up there with Valentine's Day on my dreadometer.)
Seriously, if you're chronically anxious (as I am), it's not pleasant to feel increasingly edgy and hypervigilant all day. (I typically only feel that way on days that end in 'y'.) I have to remind myself throughout the day, as I interact with coworkers and read online news, to watch out for jokes and pranks. Basically, I need to take everything I see and hear at face value, even more than usual. It's my annual reminder that I tend to be hopelessly gullible (making me an ideal target), typically believing what people tell me to be true, at least initially. Like anyone else, I don't want to look or feel foolish, and this day, more than any other, is a fools' festival and a pranksters' paradise. I'm determined not to be pranked; unfortunately, unless I can stay safely locked in the sanctuary of my apartment, completely avoiding people, news sources, and social media sites, I'll inevitably be "had" at some point. I suppose one possible way to make April Fools' Day more enjoyable would be to turn the tables on potential pranksters by playing some of my own tricks. After all, beneath my reserved, serious exterior lies a full-fledged goofball. But, for some reason, it's difficult to imagine my boss being amused, despite her fine sense of humor, by an announcement that I'm quitting. And I don't think my mom would enjoy hearing that I'm relocating to the jungles of Africa in three months. I can't really think of any other knee-slappers at the moment, but I think that's the point. Some of us, like me, aren't cut out for pranking, joking, and mind gaming the people around us. I guess the truth is I'd rather be fooled than do the fooling.
