Revel in What Actually Is

December 1, 2025

And just like that, it’s December! As always, November went by too fast, and now we’re into the holidays. Having just spent a wonderful long weekend with multiple generations of relatives, blood, by-marriage, and “adopted/almost family”, I was reminded again of the centrality and importance of our stories—communal and individual— to the fabric of all of our lives. The holidays are a great time to remember old stories and to create new ones, ones that become the shared history of tomorrow.

It's really easy, though to get stuck in the old, the traditions. There’s a Buddhist concept that misery is what happens when reality doesn’t live up to our expectations. If we expect the holidays to unfold in a certain way, and they don’t, we may expend a lot of energy trying to “fix” what isn’t actually broken. I think what that’s saying is you have to take each moment for what it is, not what you think it ought to be. I’m not really great at doing that.

A while ago, I wrote a piece about our family’s Christmas during the pandemic. Just the four of us, and given all the restrictions in place, it could have been a holiday I’d never want to relive. Instead it was magical. I wrote that piece on the heels of our start to empty-nesting, a time I struggled mightily with for about two months. My empty-nest struggles began the week before the kids were both to leave for school. We had one more week as a family of four, and I had so many dreams for how great that week would be. Except it wasn’t. And, worse, every day that didn’t unfold the way hoped brought us one day closer to the end, the day the kids would leave, and then it would be over, whatever it was.

But, as I reflected on that pandemic Christmas, I realized my expectations of that challenging week before the kids left were rooted in our family time during the pandemic— we had made the best of a crappy period. We were able to so, in part, because it was all so unprecedented; we couldn’t have expectations because none of us had ever lived through something like that before. In a way, we had to live moment-to-moment. That pandemic Christmas, we had used our holiday traditions as a blueprint for how the month of December could unfold, but we made a lot of adjustments as we went—and it became one of my most favorite celebrations ever. Based on that time, I had great expectations for our week prior to empty-nesting.

But that week didn’t match my expectations. In writing the pandemic piece, I had an aha moment. By labeling that particular week a last, I had imbued it with great import. What I hadn’t anticipated was the demands such heightened awareness brings. Because my expectations were so unrealistic, nothing could have lived up to them. So, when I’d get into bed that week, I’d feel unfulfilled and would fall apart. Then in the mornings, I wouldn’t want to get up; we were one day closer to the finish. That’s a lot of pressure on that week!

Reflecting at the end of my pandemic Christmas piece, I noted:

It wasn’t our last Advent and Christmas as a family of four, but, unbeknownst to me, we didn’t have many more. I’m actually glad I didn’t know it was a last of sorts. I knew it was special, but I wasn’t already longing for what wasn’t yet over. Instead, I was reveling in what actually was. I was fully present to that season in all the details. Now, when the box of Christmas books comes out each December, even when it’s just Mark and me, I can still hear the magic of laughter under the trees as the night’s read aloud was chosen.

When we are fully present to [the] season in all the details, new stories have the opportunity to be born, stories that strengthen the fabric of our lives. We’ve never repeated that pandemic Christmas, and I’m ok with that. I think because I drank that one in so fully, I don’t need more. This holiday season, do tell the stories of your traditions, but also leave room for new traditions to be born and, more importantly, savor them, moment-by-moment. It’s a challenge well worth the effort.