I’m a sucker for Santa.
Always have been. Always will be. I was that kid at the top of the stairs calling to my parents, “Can we come down now? Now? NOW?” while they took their sweet time making coffee and arranging a healthy Christmas breakfast of homemade chocolate chip cookies.
I can still access that visceral thrill of rushing down the steps to find the unexpected under the tree. It was a magical time.
In the midst of holiday planning recently, my daughter laughingly announced “I remember when you told me there was no Santa.” Wait? What?! There’s no Santa? So full is my enjoyment of this magical flying, red suited, white bearded dude that I am still shocked each time I hear that statement.
“It was in Kohl’s parking lot.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. I have absolutely no memory of that exchange. She filled in some details but it was clear I had definitely blocked out that moment.
At this age, she found it funny, but I’m sure I felt the poignancy of the disappearing magic at the time.
I did recall the year before while putting her to bed when she asked, “Mom, tell me the truth, are you Santa?” I responded like any parent who was infatuated with the magical wonder of innocence and also wanted to tell the truth to their kid. I smiled and asked her,
“Do you really want me to answer that question?”
“Nope.” Sweet dreams. Crisis averted. Apparently the following year I just answered the damn question when asked.
“Yup. I’m Santa and magic is real.”
We still wait at the top of the stairs for my husband to slowly, slowly, slowly put out the coffee and cookies.
The excitement is there, but to tell you the truth, a bit of the wonder has receded.
This year, perhaps more than any time before, I remembered again something important.
What is most important to me can’t be found in a material thing.
I don’t want stuff. I want meaningful interaction. With myself. With the Divine Presence. With my family and friends. I want deep conversations, rich experiences, relaxing with loved ones, and belly laughs.
These things don’t fit in a box, nor do they need a big red bow.
When I am present to the magic of my moments and the people in front of me, there is no sense of longing. I don’t need to shop for anything. In such moments, everything is delivered. Delight included.
I haven’t mailed my list to Santa at the North Pole yet. I guess I can save a stamp.
I’m choosing to cherish Presence in little and big ways this year. I’m not only consciously inviting more of these experiences into my holiday, I want to offer so much Presence to others. As if my big red bag was filled with meaningful conversations, laughter, enjoyable holiday rituals, plenty of quiet time, and lots and lots of light.
I’m still a sucker for Santa. And I believe the magic is real.
It just isn’t confined to being under the tree. For this I’m grateful. I didn’t know how to wrap a belly laugh anyway. But, I sure know how to share one. I’m looking forward to bringing delight to those around me.
May the holidays rest within your heart so fully this year that your beautiful Presence shines on strangers and friends alike. Lighting the way to joy in simple encounters and deeply shared moments.
And may you receive the same beauty from others so that Love wraps around you. Leaving you feeling shiny, new, and really, really delighted.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
“Recreational companionship” gives a boost to those on both the giving and receiving end. This phrase, coined by Willard F Harley Jr, PhD, combines two very important human needs: having fun and having someone to share it with. If you like rock climbing and your bestie enjoys knitting, you’re probably searching for a middle ground. Explore this concept with your family, friends, and colleagues. Find those activities which others also find intriguing, fun, or worth a try. Doing something interesting together can boost your sense of belonging, active the feel good chemicals, and create some lovely memories (and funny stories!). Communication, creativity, and a sense of adventure go a long way. Enjoy
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.
They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.
A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.
About twenty-five years ago, I was driving with a colleague to a local conference. As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed an open parking spot near the front door.
“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing to the right. He drove past it.
A few seconds later, another one appeared. He drove past that one, too. Then I pointed to a third. “There’s a spot.” Without the slightest hesitation, Dan replied, “I’ll leave that for someone else.” And he calmly parked much farther away. As we walked to the entrance, I asked about that statement.
During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.
They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
