December Traditions and the People in Between 😉

December does not knock politely. In my world December kicks in the door wearing tinsel, humming loudly, asking what everyone is doing for the holidays. It jingles. It glows. It insists. Music plays on repeat in the grocery store and in the WW (Weight Watcher's) world the focus turns to traditions—drinks, appetizers, main dishes and desserts—along with questions about how we can swap them, lighten them, or enjoy them just as they are.

December often brings family time and snow—though where I live, it usually arrives as rain.

The cultural message is clear: December is for traditions. Loud ones. Cozy ones. Ones with matching pajamas, secret recipes, and strong opinions about when decorations are allowed to go up. Traditions—rituals passed down, repeated, and cherished. The same ornaments emerge from carefully labeled boxes. The same recipes are followed, sometimes with handwritten notes in the margins. The same stories are told, even when everyone knows the ending.

Traditions offer comfort. They give shape to the season and help us locate ourselves in time. They remind us of who we've been and who we belong to. For some, December feels like a warm, well-worn sweater—predictable, cozy, and reassuring

And then there are the people in between.

The ones whose traditions have changed or fallen away. The ones navigating grief, estrangement, illness, or transition. The ones for whom December no longer looks the way it once did—or never did to begin with. The people sitting quietly at the edges of celebration, wondering where they fit among all the sparkle and cheer.

For many, December holds mixed feelings. Joy and sadness sit side by side. Gratitude shares space with longing. Love is present, but so is absence. We celebrate births, reunions, and milestones while also carrying the weight of those who are no longer here, relationship that remain complicated, and hopes that did not come to pass this year.

The season often invites comparison. We measure our insides against other people's outsides—the perfectly decorated homes, the full tables, the smiling family photos. It's easy to believe there is a "right" way to do December and that somehow we've missed the memo. But the truth is, most of us are improvising. Even the most polished traditions are held together by human vulnerability, fatigue, and love that sometimes feels messy and unfinished.

What if December traditions weren't meant to look identical year after year? What if they were living things—allowed to shift as we do? Sometimes tradition is gathering with family. Sometimes it's choosing quiet. Sometimes it's lighting a candle for someone we miss. Sometimes it's showing up for others when we don't quite know how to show up for ourselves. Sometimes it is hunkering down and enjoying what is—like the World Juniors and a good blanket.

And someimes, tradition is simply surviving the season with tenderness.

The people in between often carry a particular wisdom. They know what it's like to hold joy carefully. They understand that connection doesn't always come wrapped in bows. They recognize the power of small moments—a shared laugh, a kind word from a stranger, a message that says, "I was thinking of you. You matter."

December, at its heart, is about connection. Not perfection. Not performance. Connection. The kind that says, you belong here, even if your life doesn't look festive or full. The kind that makes room for all our feelings, not just the shiny ones.

As we move through this season, perhaps the invitation is to widen our lens. To notice who might be standing quietly nearby. To soften our assumptions. To remember that everyone we encounter is carrying something unseen.

And as we celebrate this time of coming together to enjoy the holiday season, I send loving kindness your way—loving kindness to the universe in which we all inhabit. May you and yours have a season, that brings joy and love into your hearts, with room to hold that which needs to be held. May we each find ways to be kind to others, to see them, acknowledge them, and let them know they matter.