There is a moment I search for every holiday season that brings me to the fullness of all I am supposed to feel this time of year. Some years, it comes in a crowded pew, staring up at the gigantic painted crucifix above the altar and laughing inwardly at the memory of my son as a toddler pointing at the blood depicted and saying “Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh” during a quiet portion of mass. Some years, it comes on the warm smile of a stranger. One year, it came on an icy Christmas Eve, waiting in a frigid ditch with a scared family for paramedics to arrive. Sometimes it is humor. Sometimes pride. And sometimes, it is in the ordinariness that I neglect to appreciate most days.
These moments pull back the curtain of numbness that prevails in life. The daily have-tos and the occasional want-tos are cleared away in one transcendent breath of clarity.
What a gift.
When the moment passes, all is right again. If I never have another of these moments all season, I am satisfied because I reconnected to the human experience in a powerful way.
My moment came yesterday.
It stole in, unannounced, at twilight. The house was quiet but for an app on my phone, playing an instrumental Christmas station, barely above a whisper. The kitchen was dim - one light over the stove. A saucepan steamed a lone artichoke. If you’ve ever steamed an artichoke, you know how long it takes. Minutes became elastic. Time stretched. I can’t say how long I stood there, watching the steam rise, feeling its heat, and listening to a lazy, nostalgic tune on saxophone.
It was in that moment I felt my dad close. With me. This year’s moment, my moment, was one of profound sadness for losing him this summer. Instead of pushing it away, as I have done so many times in the chore of being strong for others or because the emotional hill was too steep to climb, I settled into the moment's languid and tearful pocket. And what a moment it was.
Yesterday was his birthday, but I received the gift.
My wish for all of you is that you find your moment. Be watchful. The moment steals in when you least expect it, awakens the numbness, and leaves an enigmatic human afterglow.
I continue to be humbled by all of you - my readers, my clients, my friends - who give me the opportunity to live my best life doing what I love. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
If Christmas is yours, I pray you all have a blessed season. And if you find celebration in other ways this time of year, I wish you joy and love and peace.
