I have a something to share, but it’s not a good secret, or fun gossip. It is lame enough that it makes me feel silly, but common enough that I feel in good company, and it is this: in recent years, I have begun to feel fairly stressed out by the holiday season (which, for our family, is the Christmas season).

You see? It is boring, and bad. And only “fairly!” to top it off. I know I’d get more readers if I expressed more glamorous sins, or wrote about some of the actually pressing issues in this tragic world. And yet, what I have got for you all today is “fairly stressed” about this season of joy.

And we know the reasons, right? So it’s not even as though I’m illuminating new truths. It is all in the Charlie Brown Christmas special. At this time of year, schedules are packed, material goods abound and there is an increased expectation of magic. The expectation for magic is VERY HIGH, GUYS.

For me, it’s the stuff, partnered with the accelerated schedule that is hardest, and I totally know I sound ungrateful, but trust me, I am not (I am so incredibly grateful for the gifts and for the things to do). All I am saying is that I think stress manifests differently for different individuals, and having a ton of presents to either put away or hide as well as a road trip to plan gets me really good. Confronted with the madness, I start to yearn for the bland, bleak days of early January. I don’t like myself for it! I don’t like myself for any of this!

And still…still…I find myself awash in moments of total happiness, unattached to the “agita” as my dad liked to say. Christmas lights. The glee, the absolute screeching from my children; I can’t help but laugh. Gabe, this morning, wearing a battered Santa hat over the bucket hat he likes to wear, playing “Here Comes Santa Claus” on the Echo, way too loudly for 7 a.m. Way too. But what are you supposed to do with that besides smile? I do revel in the “most wonderful time of the year” aspect of this whole affair and while I know I can’t rid myself of the minor stresses, my hope is to ensure I don’t get bogged down by them.

So I started to think. I thought: what if I didn’t turn to J every morning over our cherished coffee in bed ritual, when he is deep into his non-fiction daily reading habit, and say, “I feel really overwhelmed,” and then proceed to name my concerns. I thought that, instead, it might be helpful to take my complaints to the laptop each morning (weekdays at least) jotting down my worries until I can plainly see their weaknesses, or my gratitude until it overpowers the rest. This is the first in what I hope will be an almost-daily holiday installment of feelings on bold display. I welcome yours, too!

I already feel more empowered. And J, did you see how I let you read this morning, while confining my diatribe to the keyboard? (And, I guess, delivering it to the outside world? Which is not exactly better). Merry early Christmas to you! xoxo