I don't have any traditions anymore. I used to, but none of them have remained. And isn't that, after all, the meaning of the word? I don't know how any sort of tradition can follow a person from the wonder and curiosity of childhood into the blunt and terrifying realizations of being an adult.

The idea of having classic and dependable traditions is such a beautiful mirage of how life unfolds. In all of life's wild and unpredictable changes, it would be refreshing to break up the madness with a few traditions now and then. But life prevents this. You know how they say a man can't step into the same river twice, because the river has changed and so has the man? That's exactly how I feel about traditions. A girl can't go to the same Christmas Eve mass twice because the words have taken on a whole new twist, and she has become one year older. One year wiser, or dumber, or more bitter, or trusting, or maybe a combination of all of those and more.

One year can change everything. Traditions must be altered to support us, not the other way around. I don't have any traditions anymore, but maybe constantly having to adjust is my yearly passage.