It is supposed to be fun, right? Rewarding, reaffirming, heartwarming, spiritual?
And yet the word many of us would use to describe the season is stress.
We burden ourselves with the fantasy of the perfect tree, gift, meal ... We worry about money with which to fund all of the above. We count calories, or don’t, and then that inner voice starts to scold. We remember, as we do every year, that the joys of family often come with complications.
How then to reconcile the purpose of the season with the overlay of angst? Much of the answer is in letting go. You can do that metaphorically -- deciding not to worry about perfect and aim for perfectly fine. And you can do it literally -- jettisoning the pieces that you are doing for the wrong reasons.
How would you finish this sentence: This year I won't be_____________? How do you feel about letting go of that one thing?
