Photo Credit Kari Shea
hen we put up our
Christmas tree this
year, it was a test.
With two nine-month-old kittens in the house, I envisioned scenes of toppled pines, shattered ornaments, and cats tangled in twinkle lights. So, instead of loading the tree with our usual collection of ornaments, I left it bare—just the tree, its lights, and an experiment in simplicity.
At first, the empty branches felt strange, almost unfinished. But as the tree glowed softly in the corner, the kittens cuddled up on us and purred quietly, and a favorite holiday movie played on TV, I realized I wasn’t missing the ornaments. The tree, in its unadorned state, was perfect.
This bare tree taught me something I tend to forget this time of year: we don’t have to add so much for the season to feel magical. Sometimes, less really is more.
The holidays have a way of bringing out my inner overachiever. Every December, I pile my plate high with Pinterest-worthy projects and Hallmark-level expectations: handmade gifts, elaborate cookies, and meticulously decorated trees. Somewhere along the way, the season shifts from joyful to stressful, and instead of feeling cozy, I’m counting down to January to catch my breath.
This year, though, I decided to try something different. The urge to do more, get more, buy more is everywhere. Just after Black Friday and Cyber Monday (and my invented Regretful Tuesday), I’m bracing myself against the crush of consumerism.
I’ve already checked off the lists of presents for my good little boys (and their dad), but the urge to keep going is strong. Flash sales and countdown clocks bombard my inbox, and I’ve found it easier to delete texts and emails in bulk rather than risk temptation. It’s a small act of rebellion; a reminder that the holidays aren’t about how many packages arrive at my doorstep.
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