I Still Believe in Santa

When I was young, the world was this big mysterious place. Everything worked in ways I didn't understand, and I didn't care that I didn't "get" them. I didn't need to get anything. Why bother understanding something when you can just enjoy it? I'd take the present out of the box and spend the rest of the day making up my own imaginary world inside the box. Well, I grew up. Boxes aren't playthings anymore. They're what most of my stuff sits in down in the basement. The world doesn't seem big and mysterious anymore; it's overcrowded and loud. I understand more than I ever have, and still feel like I don't "get" very much. The imaginary worlds I used to create have been replaced with the all-too-real world.

But the magic isn't all gone. Deep down, in a place I guard closely, I still believe that the magic is out there. It exists if only because I say it does. It has to. It can't only be what I see every day. There's something else, I just know there is.

But everything can't hold that magic, that certain something that sparkles when the light hits it just right. In my grown up head, there are only two such sources left - love and Christmas. It is in these two things, and only these two, that the world becomes big and mysterious for me again.

If you've read almost anything else I've ever written, you're probably aware of my fascination with love. It's in everything - scripts, blogs, even a certain novel you may remember me bringing up once or twice. I comprehend it so little, and want it so much, that it pours out even when I don't expect it to.

Christmas holds the same power over me. There isn't another day, not even my birthday, that can turn me into the five-year-old version of myself so easily. Santa may just be my parents, but the fact that he comes every year, in feast or famine, in good times or in bad, is enough for me.

This year, my friends, know that many of you have given me things that could never be put into a box, wrapped in colored paper, and tied with string. The fact that many of you still speak to me with how crazy I get sometimes is a present in itself, but that you love me on top of it? That's more than I ever could have asked for this year. You have all blessed me in ways I didn't think possible, and I love each of you for it.

Merry Christmas, and here's to many, many more.