We like to pick on the Millenials a lot in our culture. By most standards I, at 40 years old, dwell in the generational borderlands between Gen X and the Millenials, but the generational trait I have found to be the most hindering in my life, has probably been my Gen X cynicism. It was not cool to care about things when I was young. The goal was to remain aloof and never let on that you really liked anything, or were attached to any particular outcome, lest you be let down when it didn’t come to fruition. “What’s the point?” was the prevailing attitude. I don’t know if this is just my reaction to that, or a wider cultural phenomenon, but somehow the idea that doing something little, or doing something badly, was not worth the effort. In spite of the fact that traditional wisdom, and plenty of research, tell us that the cumulative effect of small acts, and the practice of even things we do badly, eventually yield pretty powerful results, I still struggle with it. My natural impulse is to not try, or give up quickly. That’s a good way to live a stunted life.
I’ve decided to adopt a resolution that doing something is better than doing nothing. Today is my daughter’s feast day. In the Catholic tradition, the feast day of the saint who’s name you share is a minor holiday of sorts. I used to be really good at celebrating feast days, but ever since I had Colin, I’ve been off my game. I love celebrating. That is a gift I received from my mother, who was a gifted celebrator. Every holiday was a wonderland of decorations, carefully thought out and perfectly wrapped gifts, and elaborate foodstuffs. I remember my childhood celebrations with so much warmth and affection, and even now that she is gone, the thought of them makes me feel closer to her. My grandmother was similarly talented. You can usually tell which gift is from me because it’s the one that looks like it was wrapped by a visually impaired third grader.
My temptation today, when I am busy and tired, is to skip the feast day celebration, because if all I can muster up is some cake mix cupcakes, or boxed brownie mix, why bother? But I know that even these little things, the memory of her little cupcake on the special plate, will someday warm my daughter’s heart exactly the same way the thought of my mother’s extravaganzas warms mine. I know that when the elderly people I work with reminisce, they remember the simple, daily things of life with as much fondness as the travels around the world. It doesn’t have to be big to have an impact.