Each season, it seems we have a distinctly different relationship with our outdoor Christmas lights.

When we had babies, the lights were a fun way to introduce holiday symbolism. And through their shining eyes, we travelled back in time to our own childhoods. There was a joy in creating a new tradition.

And then, with the school aged kids, we strung the lights together and helped them learn the ins and outs of de-tangling, and showed them how to drape them just so across the branches.

And then there were the high school years when it just felt like a big chore. With the kids busy and our schedules packed, who really cared about the outdoor lights? What a hassle.

And then, after our son and daughter went off to college, it fell to just the two of us, and it almost felt like the lights were more important than ever.

Our way of saying, so much in your lives has changed, but this stays the same.

Then there was the year we returned from living in Switzerland. Coming off of a pared down living situation in Bern, we were dazed by the excess of decorations and light in the U.S.

And driving down the street, coming home from the airport, we marveled at all of the neighborhood decorations, a little sad to think that our empty house would be bare.

But no, our son Lewis had climbed up on the roof (!) and draped thousands of tiny lights outlining the entire house.

A tear came to my eye, it was like we’d been visited by Santa. And it was like the passing of a torch.

And this year, now that we’ve downsized our house, the temptation is to give up on the Christmas lights – to minimize our traditions altogether.

But I think there is a longing at this time of year, a yearning to bring optimism and light into the cold of Winter. I mean, what a year we have been through, and who knows what 2025 will bring.

But when I walk around the neighborhood I see hope. I see light transforming the night. We are saying no to the darkness and yes to joy.

And now, the thing about having a grandchild is that no matter how depressed and cynical you might be over the state of the world, you can’t stay discouraged for very long.

You see his eyes light up and the excitement rubs off on you. The wonder is huge. Young ones see the magic and only the magic.

And so, today, back at home, my husband heads out to the hardware store with an elaborate plan to construct lighted mesh balls to hang in the tree in the front yard.

And it lifts my spirits. I’m excited for our grandson to see them, to look up and point at the branches, and to tell him that his Poppy made them glow just for him.

In the end, I think the Christmas lights are a reminder to connect with a positive spirit, if I can. But if I can’t, then maybe my sadness can earmark something sweet and rare – the fact that I kept going, and I persisted, even at the darkest times.

Parts of this past year were tough. I look back to the Spring, in the long weeks after COVID, and how hard I struggled to stay hopeful, desperate to hang on to some kind of positivity.

How now, how easy it is, to forget the bad times, when I am well. How hard it is to recall exactly how difficult a day, an hour, even a few minutes was. And how that unique pain of depression can chase all optimism away.

So I guess that this is my hope for the holiday season – not for an erasure of negative thoughts, or an ending to all sadness, but for being grateful that I simply made it through the year.

And that I found a bit of ease when things felt hard, that I kept going even when making an effort seemed futile. That I held on when dark depression was pulling me down.

And maybe this season, as I gaze upon the Christmas lights, I can appreciate both the light and the dark in my year. And that, even for just a moment, I might take the opportunity to remember to feel alive, to feel loved and to feel whole.

Happy Holidays

xoxo B