DECKING THE HALLS WHEN YOU WOULD RATHER BE DECKING YOUR EX.

AND OTHER DUBIOUS ADVICE TO GET THROUGH THE HOLIDAYS

Ah! ‘Tis the season for snuggling up two by two at the fireplace, picking out lovers’ presents and eagerly anticipating a New Year’s Eve kiss.

Argh.

Between Hollywood and Hallmark it’s a wonder that any single person successfully struggles against the urge to shove a sharp stick in their eye to escape the constant barrage of images that characterizes our culture’s ubiquitous insistence on coupledom.

But, all melodrama and threats of personal self harm aside, this time of year is hard, not only on single folks, but on anyone whose daily life feels more like an episode of ER, or a Saturday Night Live skit or even a made for Lifetime Movie, than a rerun of Leave It To Beaver.  Or, um, a rerun of Father Knows Best.

If you’re unlucky enough to be struggling during this already high-drama and often low-mood season with, for example, a recent break up, you’re also probably unlucky enough to be the recipient of startling large amounts of unsolicited advice. Much of this advice is unrealistic or ludicrous or both.

For example, during my days as a nun (I love to start sentences like that), Sister Angeles, my novice Mistress always had two recommendations for anyone who was feeling sad for any reason.

The first bit of advice she gave was “just don’t think about it.” This is a stunningly common yet completely useless piece of counsel because, as you know, if someone could “just not think about it” they wouldn’t be um, thinking about it in the first place. Has this ever worked? Ever? In the history of humankind?

Caveperson #1: Why so glum?
Caveperson #2: (frowning) Saber toothed tiger ate my mate.
Caveperson #1: Oh. Well. Just don’t think about it.
Caveperson #2: Oh don’t think about it. Oh, what a great idea! (Smiling) Thanks, fellow cavedude, I feel better already!

The second bit advice was, predictably seeing as we were nuns and all, was “pray about it.” Which seemed a lot like “don’t think about it” but with a divine guilt factor that implied—no, stated— “just don’t think about it, let Jesus think about it.”

I tried this, I assure you I did. There weren’t a lot of other options, because, y’know, we were nuns. But our hours in the chapel, which were supposed to be spent in silent meditation that would lead to total serenity, I actually spent in silent sleeping and sometimes totally uncontrollable fits of laughter. Which did make me feel better but because these fits of uncontrollable laughter were, by definition, out of control they led at least once to an unfortunate body fluid on the chapel floor incident. Which may not—as Sister Milagro, my aspirant mistress suggested—been a heinous sin before God—but was nevertheless quite embarrassing. And certainly endorphin buzz killing.

But useless advice from nuns notwithstanding, for those of who would rather wring someone’s neck rather than ring silver bells, there have got to be some realistic ways to go about feeling better during the next few weeks. At least some of which don’t involve eating Ben and Jerry’s directly from the container with a cutlery implement fashioned from a Hershey Bar.

And you give me just a moment, I am certain I’ll be able to think of one.

Of course, there’s always self-soothing, which is using the physical comfort offered by your five sentences to help convert unmanageable emotions to a manageable level. We’re talking here about rubbing your hands with lotion, listening to a piece of music you really like or smelling a flower. Strangling your ex when she shows up two hours late to pick up the cat from kitty daycare doesn’t count.

How about communing with nature? Call your best friend, gather some flat stones and go for an afternoon rock skipping session at the nearest body of water that is not your bathtub. See who can get the most skips. Remember, if you live in a large urban industrial area, deflections off of dead rats and belly up catfish count double!

Or you can use affirmations, but don’t saddle your psyche with ones that are overly ambitious. Try “just for today I will do something other than read facebook” or “I am my own casual acquaintance” for starters.

And I hate to even mention this but, c’mon, go ahead and count your blessings. Not to make you feel guilty about feeling so rotten, but because it just might relieve your misery for a moment.  If you are just coming out of a truly terrible relationship, certainly a degree of relief can be obtained from remembering “at least we didn’t have kids together.” Unless you had kids together. In which case, um, hmmm, on to the next suggestion.

Take yourself on a date. It’s super corny, but c’mon, we’re queers, corny is in our blood.  But don’t split the bill with yourself, that’s taking it a little too far.

Love yourself first, best and constantly. You can even have some fun making up your own euphemism for masturbation. (eg “polishing the brass rail” or “riding the rollercoaster.”) Work these euphemisms into daily conversations at work for extra fun!

Finally, in a similar vein, don’t worry about not being able to visualize for success. Visualizations and fantasy are almost the same thing, so watching, shall we say, erotic adult entertainment? It’s every bit as good as self hypnosis.

If you’re really having a hard time and this kind of somewhat sarcastic (never sure myself how sarcastic I am being anymore, this is the curse of the stand up comic) advice isn’t helping, I am a big fan of following Kate Bornstein’s Hello Cruel World Blog as well as her convention  #stayalive on Twitter. Lots of practical advice and other struggling folks.

Post earthquake Haiti there was a lot of talk of Lespa fe viv [hope makes life] and lately I’ve been thinking about the concept of choosing hope. I don’t mean hope like wish or some wimpy thing in greeting cards. I mean hard-assed, real live, hard worked for hope. Watching completely traumatized kids be kids (if even for a moment) again, reminds me that wallowing in sadness/anger about the state of the world or even the state of our sometimes fractured community isn’t actually changing anything. I’m asking myself: if I thought of hope as a verb, what would that look like?