I wiped the frosting off my Snoopy Christmas sweater and took a sip of my gingerbread gimlet. My son giggled with delight as he—and a sea of children—chewed on stale gumdrops, deliberately sticking candy into his mouth for every one stuck onto his gingerbread house. 

This was our third holiday affair of the weekend—woven into a chaotic tapestry of youth basketball games, last-minute gift shopping, and other life happenings—and our sixth in a week. 

Looking around the room, I noted the explosion of plastic tinsel, loud voices, louder Yuletide tunes, kitschy Santa Clause statues, and sticky candy-cane hues. My attention slowly focused back to my table and those who shared it—taking in the smiles and stories, I felt delight bubble up from my heart and spread across my face.

In midlife, I’m more of a Silent Night type; long gone are my Deck the Halls days. So, in general, I do want to get invited to all the parties and I also want to cozy up with a heating pad, warm cup of tea, and solid book. For women in perimenopause, a good night’s sleep is the stuff dreams are made of, so I must start preparing hours in advance.

Yet, as Oliver Burkeman puts it in Meditation for Mortals: “This, here and now, is real life.”

Then there’s the expression: Adulthood is saying, “But after this week things will slow down a bit” over and over until you die.

In a nutshell? This is real life—not someday when things slow down in a make-believe distant future—and it often feels overwhelming (and yet somehow underwhelming). So to close the gap between where we are and where we want to be…we need to tilt into the tiny, ordinary openings smack-dab in the midst of our messy lives. 

We can transform everyday moments—right here and now—into gateways for ease, connection, and meaning. By choosing this small shift in perspective, we absorb the good stuff daily-ish by occasionally, mindfully slowing down into our lives, just as they are.

This does ask that we let go a little. Burkeman describes it as “unclenching” and relaxing into the life you’re living. He’s using the term to describe the sensation of releasing some control and tension, for example, by unclenching one’s fists and jaw… but I’m also struck with the image of a butt clencher (and now you will be too, you’re welcome). Nevertheless, it’s a clever concept. 

So, this month, I’m unclenching a bit. I’m choosing, daily-ish, to release my cozy winter fantasies and practice embodying the mother elfing joy—as my fellow Listen To Your Mother castmember Ashely so perfectly put it—that is right here and now. I’m riding the ups and downs of the holiday season, and finding ease in laughter with friends, connection in hugs with family, and meaning in the love within and around us that we all too often overlook.