Christmas acts like an amplifier for those who are happy, secure, and certain of being loved, enhancing and deepening those feelings. The season of Christmas, though, does not discriminate in its amplification.
Ever since Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol helped to reinvigorate the feast which had been so diminished in Britain by Puritan influence, we have believed that Christmas is about families, love and togetherness. (In his later novels, Christmas is often far less cosy.)
So if our own reality fails to match up, as it will from time to time in even the best of families, the contrast leaves us feeling even more bruised and vulnerable than we already were.
Although we often focus on how difficult Christmas can be for older people, it can be even more demanding for teenagers and young adults. In fact, life in general is hard for young people. Yes, they have advantages that their grandparents might have found unimaginable, but they also live in a world where the idea of a permanent, pensionable job is often a mirage, and owning a home recedes ever further into the future.
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The pandemic, with its enforced isolation, made it difficult for many young people to connect with peers in a meaningful way. But the kind of hyper-connected world young adults live in paradoxically also seems to lead to greater loneliness.
There are pressures on young people to look, act and think in certain ways that far outweigh anything that previous generations experienced. The majority of young adults grew up in a world that simultaneously emphasised individuality, but immersed them in a fishbowl of constant surveillance at the time when they were most sensitive to the judgments of others.
They were raised with the constant message that they are unique and special. Unlike previous generations – the tendency probably began in the 1960s and accelerated alarmingly in the last 10 years – people are told that happiness does not lie so much in the tried and tested patterns of human living, but in creating one’s best self almost from scratch.
No pressure, then, especially since self-presentation comes with a heavy weight of potential judgment. No wonder some young people give up and almost adopt a uniform, parodied by influencer Frankie McNamara in one of his cultural observations on the skin fade haircut and North Face jacket combo.
McNamara’s shtick is that he does a deadpan commentary as his often willing and good-natured victims stand right beside him.
In this case, he stands beside silent lads who are wearing this combination while saying things like: “the North Face jacket /skin fade combo is the human embodiment of the culture industry, the deliberate manufacturer of sameness; armies of standardised haircuts attached to basic personalities.”
The irony is that McNamara is wildly popular among young people for mocking aspects of Irish culture, particularly youth culture, but is doing so on social media and is becoming famous for it. The kind of niche he occupies is dependent on the modern obsession with fame and social media. He cannot stand fully outside the culture because he is part of the culture even while parodying it. His kind of comedy works because a lot of young people are aware that many aspects of their culture are inherently ridiculous. Humour is an essential human trait.
Sometimes, however, there is a pressure too, not to be seen to be taking anything too seriously. Our love of craic and banter also keeps people at a defensive distance from each other. There is a peculiarly Irish distrust of earnestness, for sure, and a quickness to puncture anything perceived as pomposity. There can be a healthy aspect to that scepticism, but like anything taken to extremes, it can also be damaging.
It often makes people reluctant to admit they need help or that they might be anything except cool, detached and cynical. While there is more understanding of mental health challenges, sometimes there is still a stigma attached to openly admitting difficulties in this area.
In a world where every experience is curated for public consumption, expressing vulnerability is as likely to result in accusations of attention-seeking as it is in sympathy. A favourite tactic is to accuse people of being imprisoned by therapy-speak that cannot distinguish between real trauma and minor stresses. Again, sometimes that is true but it discourages those with real difficulties from seeking help.
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But if you look at the original nativity scene, to which we have long ago grown numb, you do not see the weight of toxic individualism and judgment. You see dependency, vulnerability, and an uncertain future that will include fleeing from a despotic power into a neighbouring country.
You see our weakness being given dignity and hope, suffering being given meaning, and gentleness exalted over raw power. Sadly, the injunction to be kind has become the subject of eye-rolling, if only because those most likely to advocate this stance on social media are least likely to employ it. It remains, nonetheless, good advice at Christmas, and right through the year.