Do you find Christmas to be a time of joy or reflection? Inspired by a listener's heartfelt question, Aaron explores the bittersweet nature of the holiday season. Through reflections on It’s a Wonderful Life and personal anecdotes, this episode uncovers how embracing challenges can lead to renewed hope.
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Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Birce
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Music: thomas j. duke
TRANSCRIPT
Aaron Calafato:
Amy, a long-time listener of the show, went to sevenminutestoriespod.com, hit the contact form, and wrote us. She says:
"Aaron and team, love the show! Been with you all since the very beginning. But I have a question—and this might come off as a little bit weird. When I listen to your Christmas and holiday episodes, they always seem to have a tinge..."
I love that word—"tinge"—of melancholy to them. So my question is: Aaron, do you find Christmas to be a time that is happy or sad?
Best,
Amy
Well, Amy, I don't think you expected this, but I'm going to use your question as a prompt for today's episode, reflection, and story. And I'm going to answer that. The answer might surprise you—and many of our listeners…
Amy, you're not alone in wondering this. In fact, my wife, Cori, is always asking me:
"Why are you watching really sad Christmas movies? Every movie you watch, I walk into the room, and you're crying."
And I'm like, "It's true. And I like it."
Pick any movie. I'm not going to go through the whole list. Family Man—by the way, underrated Christmas movie with Nicolas Cage—extremely sad. Prancer—I've referenced this movie. A very dark, sad element, bleak. So, a little bit sad there.
But it's not what you think.
As many of you know, I'm not a sad guy just walking around like Eeyore. I love Christmas. It's my favorite time of the year. So how can I love Christmas and also enjoy the sadness?
Take the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, for example. Its main character, George Bailey, has a dream. He grew up with the opportunity, the upbringing, and the ambition to shake the dust off his little town, travel the world, build big buildings, and make an impact—change things for the better.
But throughout the story, things keep stopping him.
How many of you can relate to that? You have a dream, an idea, a hope, a passion, and you want to realize it, but things along the way stop you.
Oftentimes, the things that stop us aren't just ourselves. It's obligations. It's sacrifice.
George Bailey keeps saying, "Every time I'm about to leave this town, someone gets sick. Someone needs my help."
And every time, there's a moral calling for him. He could leave anytime he wanted to. But something always pulls him back—a sense of duty, an unselfish purpose.
Look at the moment after he just got married. His wife says, “Go on, take the trip!” But he looks outside the car on the way to his honeymoon and sees there's a run on the bank—not just any bank, but his father's building and loan. It stood for something good in the town. It stood for options and choice, under the shadow of Mr. Potter.
George turns that car around. He uses all the money they saved for the honeymoon to keep the bank afloat for another day. But with every choice, he loses another opportunity.
And over time, he gets bitter.
Haven’t you?
Something’s been taken from you—maybe your health, someone you love, a job. It hurts. It’s not fun. It’s not okay. But that bitterness can creep in if you let it.
At his breaking point, George Bailey gets the gift of seeing what the world would be like without him. And in that moment, he realizes he has impacted so many lives—and they’ve impacted his.
He sees the silver lining: there’s beauty in the life he didn’t plan for. The life he didn’t write the script for, but the one he got.
Here’s the hard truth: often, those moments of beauty and hope come through sacrifice. You take care of a parent, a spouse, your children, your neighborhood. You give of yourself. And when you’re at the end of your rope, it’s easy to ask, “Why am I doing this?”
Sometimes that void fills with sadness or anger. But here’s the thing about Christmas—you can’t have the hope without the darkness.
Hope means something only because there’s something to hope for—or to hope from. You have to endure the bleak midwinter to see the light of spring.
Even at the start of a new year, people want to shed the past, start fresh. But to do that, you have to let go of parts of yourself. And that’s painful, even when those parts don’t serve you anymore.
In the Christian tradition, hope springs eternal because of a star that shines in the darkest night. But even from a humanistic or agnostic lens, it’s the light of hope and love that gets you through.
That’s why I lean into the melancholy of the season—because you can’t fully celebrate hope without acknowledging the darkness.
Amy, I don’t think you expected this answer, but you asked: Is Christmas happy or sad?
It’s both. And I think it has to be.
Happy holidays to all of you listening—and here’s to the hope of a new beginning.
