I love the holidays. The rush, the pick-up in everyone’s step. Like there’s places to be and people to see. Even on a Monday night. Maybe it’s because I love the hustle so much that I impose the excitement on everyone else. I just imagine everyone to be out Christmas shopping, off to visit with family and friends, or grabbing an Egg Nog Latte from Starbucks. Not returning from work in rush hour traffic, which is the more logical conclusion on the last Monday in November.
There’s something about that hustle motivates me. I want to light holiday-scented candles, put up our tree, cut out felt banners that spell Merry Christmas and string them up across a wall. I want to bake cookies and have friends over and sit by a fire. I want to write. An odd feeling after a six month hiatus.
The hustle makes me want to slow down, too. To take time and make it stretch over more days than it’s supposed to. To have extended breaks with nothing scheduled but family time. To relish in the now and cherish the precious moments I have with my boys.
Introspectively, the value of the holidays has increased substantially in the past few years for me. There was a time, about two years ago, that I prayed for the peace I feel about life right now. That this is where I’m supposed to be. Here, in this moment, loving every second of my life and praising God for it.