THe Meaning Behind the Magic
Growing up, Christmas always meant transition.
Zack and I would pack up and move from my mom’s house to my dad’s, sometimes flying from Dallas to Fayetteville, North Carolina, other times meeting halfway at a gas station in Tennessee to switch cars and finish the drive. Eventually, we started flying out of Tulsa, but the ending was always the same: two or three weeks with my dad’s side of the family.
Looking back, I think that shift, from the everyday demands of school and the realities of my childhood, which I’ve spoken about openly, made the holidays feel like a doorway into something lighter. Something hopeful. The bright lights, the change of scenery, and the energy of family all wrapped together into a season I genuinely looked forward to.
As my dad once said, “I thought Christmas was your thing.”
That comment stuck with me. Because for years, it was true. I loved Christmas.
When Kelly and I got together in 2013, I brought that same joy with me, helping light up the tree, the house, and the season. But as time has passed, I’ve noticed something shifting. I’m not less grateful or less joyful, but the excitement of Christmas has been replaced by something quieter: reflection.
These days, I find myself lingering in the memories more than the moment. I think about what those holidays represented for me as a kid: safety, change, relief, belonging.
And in understanding that, I realized something important. My love for Christmas wasn’t only about the season; it was about what the season allowed me to feel.
That recognition softened something in me. It reminded me that we don’t outgrow the magic; we just understand it differently. What once felt like sparkle now feels like stillness. What once felt like anticipation now feels like gratitude.
I can’t go back and rewrite the past, and I don’t want to. But remembering the why behind my love for Christmas brought me peace. It reminded me that the magic we feel in certain seasons is often tied to the meaning we needed most at the time. And maybe this year, instead of chasing the excitement I once knew, I can honor the gratitude, the growth, and the memories that shaped it.
Neuroscience tells us that nostalgia, the act of reflecting on meaningful memories, actually increases serotonin and oxytocin, the chemicals linked to connection and calm. That means remembering doesn’t just feel good; it’s healing. It grounds us in gratitude, helps us regulate, and strengthens our sense of identity.
So when we look back on the holidays, the laughter, the loss, the lessons, they’re all working together to remind us where we’ve been and who we’ve become. The holidays still hold magic. It just glows differently now.
5 Ways to Be the Light
Honor the memories. The moments that shaped you still matter. Let them remind you of how far you’ve come.
Redefine the magic. Joy doesn’t have to look the same every year. It evolves as you do.
Practice presence. The past can teach you, but life still happens here—in this breath, in this moment.
Share your gratitude. Tell the people who shaped your story how they mattered. That’s the true gift.
Find stillness in the sparkle. Let quiet gratitude replace the rush. Sometimes peace is the new excitement.
Being the Light doesn’t mean recreating old magic. It means recognizing the deeper meaning behind it, the belonging, the hope, the love, and carrying that forward into who you are now. Kindness isn’t one more thing, it’s the thing that changes everything.
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