As opposed to the Meaning of Life - which we all know is 42.
(For all my non-Christmas oriented readers - please substitute your own significant event marked by crass commercialism, guilt, and over-indulgence)
I was trying to remember all those Christmas at the Walton's moments a good family is supposed to have, and drew a blank. I wondered if it was because I was senile or just didn't have a lot to remember. I called my sister to check, she doesn't remember us having a lot of traditions all together as a big happy family either. Which of course resolves the issue - either we are both senile or there's just not a lot there.
I suspect the latter, which is sad in a way, but I've managed to grow up
slightly strange perfectly normal in spite of it, ignore the voices in my head, and build my own traditions. Even after I first separated and the kids were at their mom's over Christmas for the first few times- we just had it a week early at my place too. Then I went to my sister's and had a great time. Another year, alone at Christmas, I bought my own stocking stuffers, woke up "surprised" and was just fine.
I guess my point is rather simplistic. The meaning of Christmas is whatever we want to make it - there's no "correct" answer. And if you don't have a lot of traditions already - start some. They're the glue that binds together the generations in a family, whether it's singing carols together, pulling silly wind-up toys out of the stocking, or deciding who gets the Pope's nose.