You know the holidays are coming when all the old holiday movies begin showing up on television—which these days is right after Halloween. From It’s a Wonderful Life to The Bishop’s Wife, many of the classics include lessons taught by spiritual beings who remind the protagonist of the real spirit of the holiday.

The grand-daddy of them all is A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

I’ve seen the movie at least 50 times (I’m 54, so that’s a lot of Christmas Carols). It’s such an enduring story, it keeps getting new and different versions. There have been musical versions, changed-gender versions, even cartoon versions with Mr. Magoo as Ebenezer Scrooge. Who can resist that?

My favorite film version dates back to 1951, the one starring Alastair Sim. Something about it feels absolutely faithful to the book, and equally authentic. Perhaps it’s the way Sim plays the crusty old Scrooge with such gusto. You can see the very personal journey of Scrooge on his face and his whole being as he gains a perspective on his life and changes its course by dawn.

They say Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol in six short weeks because he needed the money (some irony there), and that he wrote it following a trip to Manchester, where he witnessed terrible poverty. No matter his motivation, he used the opportunity to write a story about how to lead a life of generosity and hope.

The class struggle is what helped make it an historical masterpiece, but to me it’s the very personal nature of the story that’s so compelling. It’s the idea that one human can make a difference in the world, as long as they choose to change themselves. I know what brings me back to the story each year is the need for that reminder, especially during the craziness of the season. The real spirit of the season is about hope, celebrating the goodness in others and making a difference for those less fortunate.

Geva Theatre Center’s theatrical version is a beloved local tradition. Geva’s artistic director Mark Cuddy agrees that there is something unique about the story that bears repeating every year.

“As artists, we return to this story annually because it allows us to create both the exterior world of Dickensian London and the interior world of Scrooge’s psyche,” he says. “I’m not sure which is scarier! As viewers, really as humans, we return to find that Scrooge’s renewal gives us the hope that we, too, can change our ways.”

I am certain the reason we’re willing to go on the familiar journey with Ebenezer Scrooge each year—the reason he holds such fascination for us—is that despite the extremes of his story, he represents all of us. Even the most pure souls may have moments of cynicism and selfishness. We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t. And as much as I hope that I have the purity of the poor Cratchit family in the story, I know there’s a bit of Scrooge in me as well.

But I’ve always wondered what lessons my ghosts would show me if they appeared to me one fateful night. What do I need to be reminded of that I’ve forgotten? What do I need to take stock of during the holiday season? And what would my ghosts look like?

My Ghost of Christmas Past would definitely be dressed in a power suit, with shoulder pads that look like a linebacker’s. She’d have big hair and glasses that are even bigger. She’d still be smoking and drinking shots of tequila. And she’d take me back to the Christmas of 1990.

Like Scrooge, I’d have been working late trying to get a brief done at the law firm where I practiced. I’d be feeling really empty, wondering why I was bringing this case against bank debtors during the holidays. Or perhaps I was resentfully researching case law for a partner’s son’s divorce—a case I was given because I was the only woman in the litigation department. (Cut to scene of the partners saying: “She’s the woman—she must want to do divorce cases.”)

No matter what I was doing, I’m certain my ghost would show me lying on the floor of my office crying because I was so unhappy.    

My ghost would then show me sneaking off to a night at my acting class at the Shakespeare Theater. I’d see my husband in the audience, suffering because it’s Shakespeare but beaming at me because he loves me and wants me to pursue my dream. Most important, I would have seen the joy I experienced performing before an audience again. The lesson I might learn is that it’s when you do things that feed your soul that joy shows up.

My Ghost of Christmas Present, wearing yoga clothes, would show me in overcrowded parking lots at the mall, with crazy shoppers buying indiscriminately. You’d see me cursing the traffic and the lack of shopping carts, yet shopping like a madwoman right alongside everyone else to get all the presents on my list.

So my helpful ghost would take me down to The Center for Youth to see the true happiness on the faces of those who stop the holiday madness of acquiring things by donating things to the kids in need there. I’d witness the joy people feel when they spend their holidays not just running around in shopping malls but also serving those in need.

And then there’s my Ghost of Christmas Future, the most frightening of all, dressed in black. While Scrooge saw his lonely grave, I’m certain my ghost would show me the cautionary tale of the world still dealing with poverty. Or closer to home, perhaps I’d see my family all together while I was somewhere else working instead of enjoying them and being present with them. To me, a future where I forget to pay attention to the importance of connecting with those I love or making a difference for others—that would be the scariest future of all.

Each year, as I sit in the dark watching A Christmas Carol, I remind myself that the lessons from each of these ghosts are eternal and necessary.

Mark Cuddy reminded me that one of the fundamentally powerful messages from A Christmas Carol is something that bears repeating to all of us each year: “It reminds us that generosity of spirit is something everyone can do, no matter one’s wealth. And yes, we need to re-learn that every year.”

Luckily, I have angels who surround me in real life to remind me of this all year-round, not just during the holidays: My husband with his generous heart, my children and the joy I see as they discover their passions, and all of those in Rochester who make a difference for others.

So to all of those I love and to those I don’t know this holiday season, to paraphrase Tiny Tim: Happy holidays, and bless us, everyone.