Same as it ever was

Tradition is a curious thing yet not surprising if you believe we are creatures of habit. Holidays overflow with tradition from the set-up (tree up, then lights) to execution (dad turns on Christmas music, everyone sits down around the tree) to tear-down (wrap the lights, fold the tree, promise yourself next year you'll start shopping sooner).

It's always fascinated me how many traditions appear to be practiced and repeated just because that's how they've always been done. The danger there is that the rituals that make up traditions can lose meaning, and in some cases, be more of a burden than an enjoyment (when everyone knows it and no one says anything!). On the other hand, I sure have fond memories of traditions that I so anticipated each year at Christmastime. The childhood anticipation of Christmas was truly a magical time, and I hope some of the traditions Emily and I enjoyed growing up can be shared with our kids to make the time of waiting magical for them, too.

As with anything, it's important to strike a balance. Tradition is good when it brings about a true source of joy in bringing family and friends together, but you shouldn't be afraid to break it. Just as your mind--not a memento or keepsake or photograph--holds a memory, kindred spirits--not a ritual or time or place--make a family.

Tradition

Somewhere in my brain a screw is loose. For the past few years on the day of winter's first snowfall my mind pulls me outside to go for a run, partly out of guilt that I haven't run all summer (I prefer cycling) but mostly out of the need to assure myself I can survive it. This year it wasn't terribly cold, but cold enough to create an icy path. The wind was also blowing hard, driving the falling ice into my eyeballs while I ran north.

I generally run at night--or in this case, snowfall--so that my slow pace and poor form are hidden from public view. For some reason I find it easier to run in the winter, despite having to wear hat, gloves, gator and many layers of clothing. My real problem with running is that I'm not consistent yet feel like I should be able to go farther and faster. And each year on the first run I end up running farther than I probably should for a first run. My wife, a fantastic runner, rightfully rolls her eyes.

But...what really "brings me back" each winter is how good it feels when I'm done. Coming in from outside, warming up, stretching and waiting for the satisfying muscle ache of a surviving yet another first winter run.