$pent Millennial

Dear Reader,

Breathe out.

Pause. And as you do, let out that breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

It is the final weekend before Christmas. Whether you celebrate or not, this tends to be a busy, full, emotionally loaded time for people. So I’m going to keep this brief. (A moment of grounding — for you and for me.)

As we hustle and bustle — last-minute gifts, planning and arrangements, travel, loose ends — this season that is meant to be cozy and joyful so easily becomes one of expectations, pressure, stress, and quiet performance. The bar gets higher. The margin gets thinner. And suddenly, even small things can feel… heavy.

I had a real-time opportunity to practice the pause and the breath this holiday season when I pulled into the garage after work, parked the car, and glanced at my phone.

A text from my partner read:

“He got the tree.”

Of course, he referred to our beloved dog.

Before I could even step out of the car, my body reacted. Anxiety. Frustration. A rush of imagined outcomes. Was the dog sick or hurt? How bad was the damage? Was Jesse bracing himself for my reaction, already trying to protect me from the upset? Was I about to walk into a mess — literally and emotionally?

As I climbed the stairs to our apartment with all of this swirling inside me, a small voice in the back of my head reminded me: how big I made this would determine how big it became. I could let this derail the night… the week… even the season, if I really committed to it.

So I paused.

I took a few slow breaths — leaning on the self-regulation tools I’ve developed and practiced over time, many of them thanks to working with and learning from children.

When I opened the door, I was greeted by Jesse, apologetic and explaining what had happened, and by the dog himself — rushing over, tail wagging, anxiously “explaining” his side of the story.

I took one more breath.

After a heavy exhale, I said calmly,

“That’s disappointing.”

I walked over to the tree. Ornaments scattered across the floor. Red, gold, and green lights pulled from the branches — chewed through and clearly done for. As the disappointment deepened, I removed the lights and gathered the pieces.

“We can handle this,” I said, with another exhale.

As Jesse reassembled what remained of the tree and the ornaments, I adjusted my expectations for the rest of the season — a Christmas without a lit tree. I reminded myself that in the grand scheme of things, and in the context of what so many people are facing right now, this was a very small disappointment.

We still had our meaningful little twig of a tree, even if it was barely hanging on. We still had festive lights strung throughout the apartment. And more importantly, we still had each other.

Because, of course, it was never really about the tree or the lights anyway. It was about the walk to get the branches. The cozy meals and treats shared under the soft glow of Christmas lights. The quiet evenings. The moments of togetherness that don’t require perfection to be meaningful.

So as this coming week unfolds — as pressures rise, plans change, and things don’t go the way you hoped (and if your life and family are anything like mine, they probably won’t) — I invite you to breathe out.

Pause.

Feel the disappointment when it’s real. Let it pass through you without setting up camp there. Zoom out when you can. Remember the bigger picture.

And notice when the disappointment isn’t actually about what happened, but about an imagined standard, an expectation, or a version of how things were “supposed” to look — one we may have quietly created all on our own and that matters to nobody else. 

May this week be a reset. A time for softness. A season not lost to expectations or performance, but grounded in presence, love, and — maybe most of all — peace.

Until next week, take care and happy holidays, 

Everett