The Quiet Spirit of the Season

The preparations for the holiday season have begun.

You can almost feel it humming — the city dressed in lights, the air crisp with the promise of Christmas, and the collective excitement rising like a soft glow from every decorated window.

Last night the parade wound its way through the streets. Even with the cold settling deep into our coats, the excitement was palpable, the kind that reminds you that wonder is still alive in this world. At home, Aunt J climbed the stairs to gather the boxes of treasured Christmas past — each item a memory waiting to be unwrapped. Some were sweet, some carried a sting, but all of them were pieces of our lives, reminders of the years that shaped us.

This year we won’t be doing Christmas of expectation.

We will be sharing Christmas of memory.

Simple moments.

Token gifts.

Stories that echo with laughter, love, and the quiet blessings of an imperfect but fortunate year.

This morning, as I woke slowly and gently, a realization came to me with the softness of dawn:

I live my life as if I have a thousand tomorrows… but the truth is, I could be gone in a flash. What remains of any of us are the memories we leave behind.

Yes, I study for my future career.

Yes, I dream of the life waiting just beyond the next step.

But beneath those dreams lives a deeper desire — to be remembered as genuine, real, open-hearted, and happy. Someone who loved honestly and lived fully.

That is what I’m giving this Christmas.

Not in boxes or bows, not in gatherings or elaborate plans.

But in the same way I give all through the year:

With presence.

With honesty.

With a heart that stays open, even when it’s tender.

As the season unfolds and we prepare our homes for Christmas, I keep thinking about what the true spirit of this holiday really is.

It isn’t in the tree.

It isn’t in the events you attend.

It isn’t even in the special gift tucked into a stocking.

The spirit of the season is found next to the happiness already living inside each of us — the happiness we often overlook because we’re too busy reaching for what we don’t yet have.

We can’t feel Christmas magic when we’re stretching forward in longing.

We feel it when we lean back into presence.

When we are here — really here — we witness the blessings we already hold.

We see the tiny miracles that have carried us through another year.

We feel the warmth of the memories we’ve made, and the hope of the ones still waiting to be born.

The holidays don’t ask us to be perfect.

They ask us to be present.

And so this season, I choose to slow down.

To soften.

To notice the beauty tucked into ordinary moments.

To let gratitude gather around me like a warm blanket.

Because the greatest gifts we’ll ever give — or receive — are the ones wrapped in openness, remembrance, and love.