Big Santa slippers

Written by Ben Tallon

I message a close friend to see if he’s on the couch yet. This isn’t pleasantry – I need to know that he is.

This particular friend works like a dog and he’s passionate about his craft – code – which means he doesn’t take much time off work. So he commits to his Christmas holiday break in a big way. Each year, I’ve found myself taking increasing amounts of vicarious pleasure from my vision of his idling. We met last weekend and I nodded along as he detailed what TV shows he had queued up, what he’ll be snacking on, and how long he intends to be horizontal.

This ridiculousness began when he found a way to make his passion his profession. Caught in the classic self-unemployment trap: work long hours, say yes to too much, burn out, we both cherished the chance to down tools and recharge during the Christmas period. That was until I became a father of twins in 2020. No more was my Christmas break anything to do with relaxation or rest. 5am rises, wailing babies up at all hours, and general daily subservience evolved into the current cannonball Christmas excitement as they approach 5. As this friend now enjoys the fruits of older, independent sons, he has regained full control of his Christmas patterns, so I indulge in his well-earned sluggery. It’s the closest I’ll get to a fireside with a good book and a whisky for the next decade or so. This is how it has to be.

So, what in all likelihood is not that spectacular becomes, in my mind, a magical showcase of lazing, the sort so decadent that has not been seen since emperors of ancient wherever took the piss, decadence in robes, lurched over joints of meat and half a vineyard of grapes.

In my message, I asked him if he had massive Santa slippers on. I knew he didn’t, but he once sported a pair of big gorilla slippers in our teenage years, so I took a punt; pure fantasy as I close my eyes and picture him shuffling back to the sofa in them with a new plate of filth.

The funny thing about all of this is, there’s a bizarre lesson about the power of thought. I’m setting my mind on a better course – actually improving my mood with this silliness. The warm glow of the Christmas tree lights does – if only marginally – elevate my mood. As does the fact this friend is having a positive experience.

Having watched Stutz, the tremendous documentary about psychotherapist Phil Stutz and his methods of supporting the mental wellbeing of his clients, I read his book The Tools. Since then I’ve been spending my waking five minutes practising his ‘grateful flow’ exercise: a meditative tactic to override any negative thoughts with a series of better imaginings of things you are grateful for. A ladder out of the spirals we tend to send ourselves into. This is often owing to negativity bias; an evolutionary self-preservation mechanism that served us well during the times of bigger predators and the likes, but in today’s 24-hour news cycle world, is routinely hijacked, keeping us on edge, frightened, and panicked.

After a tough few years as a fatigued new parent, I have far more control of the trajectory of my thoughts, and it’s something I work with my coaching clients to improve because it has a huge bearing on our ability to create optimally.

A few of them might even get a Christmas card with my friend’s Santa slippers covered in Twiglet crumbs and droplets of sherry, shortly after passing out in the blue glow of his gargantuan Christmas tree in front of another Star Wars binge.