So I just received an email from yet another reader who wanted to wish me a ‘Merry Christmas’. Not a reader of this blog but rather of my Christian philosophy blog. Make no mistake, I sincerely appreciate the warm wishes, the fact that he thought of me and took time out of his day to write me such endearing sentiments. That certainly means a lot to me personally and I am grateful.

But it was another reminder of this wretched holiday. Bah, I deplore it. Christmas. A humbug, that’s what Scrooge rightly called it (although he was ultimately weak because he gave in to the nauseous trappings of the ‘holiday spirit’, along with the equally weak Grinch). I have not held a favorable view of this holiday season since I was a very young boy and still naïve about most everything. So much of the Christmas season has become repugnant to me; through its bloated commercial excess it has lost most of its authentic value. I do appreciate the importance of families getting together and celebrating their love and solidarity. Absolutely and without reservation. But for me that is accomplished at Thanksgiving—which really makes Christmas superfluous on that score.

And, let’s be honest, there is nothing Christian about the holiday season. From the decorated tree to the festively wrapped presents to the egg nog and Mandarin oranges to Santa Claus and his reindeer and the stockings hung by the chimney with care, at the end of the day Christ is not to be found anywhere in the truly predominant features of the holiday (ignoring the fact that he was almost certainly not born on the 25th of December). Aside from our nods to nativity scenes and the tradition of recounting the gospel narratives of his birth, what exactly does Christ have to do with Christmas? Nothing, if we can be honest about it. It is a facade impotently concealing the fact that this season and its traditions originate in pagan religions.

When is Thanksgiving? It’s around the middle of October for Canadians and around the end of November for Americans. And then there is New Year’s Eve at the close of December. Those are holidays I genuinely appreciate and can get into the spirit of. But what is this ‘Christmas’ inserted in between them? I could really do without that superfluous holiday.

Nothing proves who your real friends are quite like misfortune.

When misfortune hits—and what form it takes rarely matters—a real sense of loneliness can envelope me. The perception of that loneliness is not an illusion; I am genuinely alone because, when misfortune befalls me, a number of so-called friends are suddenly nowhere to be found. And that loneliness is palpable because it is precisely in those moments that I need friends the most. Why do so many friends vanish?

Because I was never their friend. That’s the dirty little truth. I was nothing more than a notch on their social network belt, whose value was measured by the contribution my acquaintance made to their status quo, which diminishes by the degree to which I am perceived as a liability. When misfortune befalls me, I become ‘high maintenance’. I am worthy of their time so long as I don’t require anything of them, even more so if I can be of use to them.

But if I am not of use to them or if I have some kind of need, I’m treated like a pariah and soon find myself experiencing a poverty of social contact. So it is in those moments of misfortune that I have to retreat to that small, select group of people who are genuine friends. Misfortunes make demands on my attention and energies, which cannot be wasted on frivolities like self-absorbed ingrates. And that group is small indeed because precious few are those who I consider worthy of my true self. When misfortune hits and causes my social contacts to evaporate, creating that perception of real loneliness, it is then that my true friends stand out in stark contrast. And I look at those who disappeared and I say, “This has been added against your account.”