A few years ago, I began a new holiday tradition: filling in a Christmas memory book.
This checks out, right? Holidays, traditions, and intentional memory making are kind of my thing (or, one of my things, anyway!), so this wasn’t a surprising development. What may surprise you, though, is how poorly I stuck to the tradition in the years since. I filled in about half of the questions the first year, and then a handful the second year… but always a bit half-heartedly. The prompts felt repetitive, and my answers weren’t capturing what actually mattered to me about the Christmas season.
This past year, I never pulled the book out of the Christmas boxes. And wow if this wasn’t Cultivate What Matters 101: if a goal (or a tradition, or project, or memory book) doesn’t really matter to you, you’re unlikely to follow through.
(Cut to me, not following through.)
So I sat with that for a minute. On the surface, this memory book seemed to be checking all the boxes: I love Christmas and value celebrating it in a meaningful way. I love writing. I love records that add up over time. Still, this book wasn’t doing it for me! As I packed away the Christmas boxes, though, I hit on something that I thought actually would be meaningful to me…
As longtime readers know, I pour significant time and effort into creating our Christmas cards and newsletters each year. It’s a project that connects me to my grandmother and to fond childhood memories of sitting around a table with my siblings and parents, adding our signatures one by one to the year’s letter. It scratches my creative itch, it connects me with people I love around the country, and it satisfies my desire to tell a story about the year as it’s ending — to tie a bow on it, if you will. It delights me to no end.
What would be meaningful, I realized, was finding a better way to enjoy those Christmas cards I work so hard on, as well as a few photos from each Christmas season. No, it’s not a 1:1 switch, but once I realized that this mattered much more to me than recording what we ate on Christmas Eve (spoiler alert, it’s always the same) or what songs everyone was loving that year (spoiler alert, they’re almost always the same), it was an easy one.
Now, our Christmas cards, letters, and photos live in a simple album that’s easy for everyone to flip through. I couldn’t love it more.
I know this is a tiny, simple switch, but to me, it”s emblematic of a larger idea, and so it seemed worth sharing, in case you might need the same reminder I did:
You can change traditions, no matter how long they’ve been running or how much money they cost to get off the ground. You can tweak them, refresh them, or scrap them completely.
You can change the way you capture memories. You can start something new (even if it won’t capture your whole marriage or your kids’ whole childhood!) and you can retire something that no longer fits (even if you’ve invested many years into it!).
Saying goodbye to what doesn’t matter (or what matters less) makes room for the things that matter more (and the things that matter most). That’s a reminder I always need. You, too?
Friends, I’d love to hear: have you scrapped or significantly changed a tradition or way you record memories? It can be really hard!
In somewhat surprising news, I’m happy with the way my face looks.
I say surprising, because, as of this week, I am 37, and drawing ever-closer (or perhaps I’m already there?) to the age where panic over the visible signs of aging often sets in. But I don’t feel panicked. In fact, I feel rather pleased. This seems worthy of exploration, and so I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit lately. Shall we explore together?
Here’s why I think I’m content so far with the aging process, and with my particular face — some reasons practical, and some more philosophical.
1. My skin looks objectively better than it did when I was younger. I had some acne in high school and despaired of bumpy, flaky skin on my forehead through much of my twenties. Over time, I’ve learned more about my skin and found products that work for me. (In case you’re wondering, I’d say only two have made an immediate, highly-noticeable difference: this charcoal soap, which evens out my oily/dry skin (I’ve been using it since 2017!), and this toner, which completely got rid of the forehead flakiness and smoothed out my skin overall (in the rotation since 2019).)
When you remember what things used to be like, it’s easy to be grateful for where you are now.
2. The signs of aging my skin does show are palatable to me. I have some serious laugh lines around my eyes. They truly don’t bother me at all – I see them as evidence of a joy-filled life with lots of reasons to smile. Other than that, I think my skin looks… kind of the same as it always has? I attribute this 100% to genetics, fanatical daily use of sunscreen since I was in college, and a penchant for wearing big hats when I’m spending time in the sun. Thank you, mid-aughts magazines, for drilling this into my head.
3. I am frugal. John and I are highly-motivated savers and givers, and I don’t have a ton of extra spending money lying around. Because of my frugality, more invasive (a.k.a. expensive!) procedures have always felt off the table — and so I don’t spend time researching them or analyzing before and after photos or even considering what’s possible. I’ve also never met with a consultant who told me all the things that could be improved, so it’s easier to be content with what I have. Ignorance is bliss :)
4. The faces I look at most are aging naturally. And many of them are the people I admire most. That’s in part because they’re mostly faces in the real world with me, not faces on a screen. My friends and family and the women at school pick-up and soccer and church and in my neighborhood are who I have for companions and comparison, not the cream of the internet.
I also read a lot about how social media, with its filters and ring lights and editing apps, is not realistic. This has inoculated me against the idea that online perfection is something to strive for; instead, I assume it’s artificially enhanced and move on.
5. I’m largely protected from ageism. The world can be a cruel place. I’ve had the same job for 15 years, and for most of that I’ve had only women colleagues. I don’t have to routinely get up in front of a boardroom of men, I’m not in sales, and I don’t often find myself in professional settings where I’m judged on my looks. Ageism and prejudice based on beauty is a real thing, but it’s just not a thing I’ve had to deal with.
6. Beauty has never been my foremost characteristic. To be clear: I could name plenty of things I wish were different about my face. It used to sting when other people’s looks were complimented more than mine, but now I’m grateful for it. From my teenage years, it right-sized my expectations: if I wasn’t expected to be “the pretty one,” it was okay that my skin wasn’t perfect and my face was only “good enough.” And it hurts a lot less to see something degrade or be less valued over time if it’s not something you hold dear.
7. And yet, a good, good man finds me beautiful. And he tells me that often. What more could I want or need?
8. Still, I don’t believe my beauty is a measure of my worth or value. This is beautifully rooted in my Christian faith. What makes me worthy is that I am made in the image of God, as we all are — and that never changes or fades. No matter my age or how I feel about the body God gave me, my value is secure.*
9. I tend to recognize the good old days when they’re here. I won’t look back in twenty years and wish I had appreciated how I looked. I know I have it good right now, which makes the idea of fixing what I have… kind of silly.
10. I am so grateful to be alive. I am grateful to age alongside my husband and children. And aging has a physical component. In this world, that’s just how it is.
This feels like a risky post to write. It could easily be misunderstood or misconstrued, or maybe I’ll look in the mirror in 10, or 20, or 30 years and feel quite differently. But I have achieved a measure of peace in this area of my life that spills out into so many others, and if there’s something about how I’ve gotten here that might be helpful to someone else, I want to share it — because there’s not many other people who will. At the risk of sounding like a conspiracist, a message of contentment in imperfection is not one that many online voices are incentivized to share, since it doesn’t really sell anything (except maybe sunscreen!).
So! I hope you receive this with the heart with which it was intended, and please do chime in with any thoughts of your own. I look forward to reading them!
Inspired by a recent Lazy Genius podcast episode, I thought we could chat today about a few small changes I’ve made recently that are bringing me outsize joy. To be clear, these are inexpensive, small, one-time changes, not necessarily steps on the way to a bigger change (though, of course, even small changes are always leading us somewhere!).
Not many of Kendra’s examples could be copy and pasted into my life, and I’m guessing mine wouldn’t fit exactly into your life, either — but hearing her changes immediately got my wheels turning, and I hope mine can do the same for you!
1. We bought a giant umbrella. As many of you know, we walk or ride bikes to elementary school each day. For the last few years, we’ve grabbed one of a handful of normal-sized umbrellas (each in various states of disrepair) on rainy days, then did our best to fit a grown-up, child, and backpack underneath.
Then! John bought this absolutely enormous golf umbrella a few months ago, and everyone can fit under with ease. Rainy days are positively luxurious now.
2. I leave ten minutes early for preschool pickup instead of five. I used to brag that it took three minutes to go door-to-door from our home to our two younger kids’ preschool, and while on the best of days that might be true, five minutes is a far more realistic average. Plus, they’ve changed a light pattern between here and there in the last year, and traffic has generally picked up on this particular stretch of road.
All this to say — I often made it in time leaving five minutes before pickup, but it was stressful. A few months ago, I committed to walking out the door with ten minutes on the clock, and it is the easiest-breeziest feeling to know I will arrive with time to spare.
3. I set my alarm ten minutes earlier. I’m an avowed snoozer — I do not like to get out of bed at the first chime of my alarm. While I don’t think there’s a moral component to snoozing or not, it can put a kink in my morning routine.
Recently, I had the somewhat brilliant realization that while it would not matter to mybody or brain if my alarm went off at 7:20 versus 7:30, I would have effectively moved my start time up by ten minutes as long as I committed to a single snooze. So I did, and it worked! Friends, you would not believe the difference ten extra minutes has made in my morning routine — I think I’m going to write a separate post about it, because this and a few other tiny changes have really added up.
4. I say yes every time John asks me to go on a midday walk. John and I both work from home three days a week. On those days, we’ll often go for a brisk 13-minute walk right after lunch. (Yes, we’ve got our normal loop down to a science!) Some days, though, I’d be in the middle of a task, or just feeling behind, and I’d beg off.
No more. Now, I always say yes. Nothing in my job is so urgent that it can’t wait 15 minutes, and my days are greatly improved by getting outside in the sunshine with the person I love most.
5. I listen to a podcast while making kids’ lunches in the evening. I have been known to grumble about how I don’t have enough time to keep up with the podcasts I subscribe to (especially now that I don’t commute to work). In an inspired application of the behavioral intervention temptation bundling (basically, combining something you have to do with something you want to do), I decided to take the extra minute to pair and pop in my earbuds before pulling out the lunchboxes each evening as I try to develop this habit. Catching up on Coffee and Crumbs, Risen Motherhood, or Honestly makes this somewhat-tedious 15 minutes something I look forward to.
6. I park far away. While I’ve been a default-stairs gal for awhile (my OB’s office was on the third floor and I took great pride in the fact that I never took the elevator through all three pregnancies, ha!), I’ve recently recommitted to parking in the back corner of the lot. Not always (not at night, not when I’m crunched for time, you know the drill), but when it’s at all reasonable, I do it. Every little bit of activity throughout the day helps! Plus, I kind of delight in making the “weird” and “slow living” choice :)
I tossed this question out to the Articles Club gals on our group chat and thought it could be fun to share a few of their answers, too! Here we go…
I have duplicate cleaning supplies on both levels of our house, which means our bathrooms stay much cleaner… though cleaning a bathroom still doesn’t make me happy. — Pressley
I plan out all my Peloton workouts on Monday and “schedule” them all, down to the exact class, so I don’t have to think about it the rest of the week. — Chelsey
We moved our socks to our dining room buffet. So much easier than walking back upstairs when we need to get out the door! — Ginna
On Sunday afternoons one of us now makes lunches for all four of us (two parents, two kids) for Monday and Tuesday. Not having to make a lunch on Monday evening delights me every single week! — Bethany
I keep a “gifts” note on my phone with gift ideas for… myself! My mind used to go blank when someone asked me but now I can just pull it up. — Chelsey
We bought giant containers of ranch and taco seasoning – no more worrying if we have a little packet in the pantry! — Libby
I taped a note by the front door of essentials we have to have when we leave the house on a weekday morning. (Me = phone, laptop, lunch; son = lunch, book bag with folder, water bottle; daughter = bottles, low supplies). Simple but effective! — Kelly
I’d love to hear:what small changes have you made recently that have made a difference? Please join in in the comments!
The last of my grandparents passed away at the end of January, and on this day of love, I’d be honored to tell you a little bit about her.
Some of you, actually, may already be acquainted: I was lucky enough to feature her in my Marvelous Mama series at the age of 90, where she charmed many readers by recalling the August night she was ready to hand off her would-not-stop-crying baby to any random passerby :)
That interview also gave me one of the simplest and dearest nuggets that I have tucked close to my mothering heart for the last eight years. Best tip for a new parent? I asked. Enjoy being a mother, she said.
That’s it.
Enjoy being a mother.
Not sleep training advice or picky eater advice or how best to think about balancing independence and safety or how to help with homework while instilling responsibility or how to balance work and home duties.
Also, not the stinging, “cherish each moment, the years go by so fast!” admonishment, well-intentioned but with embedded heartbreak.
No — here and now, just enjoy what you have. Enjoy who you are and whose you are and the role you get to fill.
To me, the simplicity of this invitation stops the blustering parental advice machine in its tracks. It quiets to the truth: This is my life. (I am a mother.) These are my kids. (I am their mother.) These are the people I have been given to care for and teach and discipline and feed and listen to and read to and tuck in and… enjoy. In all of that and more, it’s my choice whether I will enjoy.
And since this interview, which came when June was in her first year of life, I have (imperfectly, but faithfully). I wrote about it on June’s first birthday; I’ve thought about it daily. I speak it over myself like a prayer.
And I have had a model in my grandmother, because from what I can tell, she did enjoy being a mother. In fact, she seemed to enjoy every aspect of her life.
This is not because it was easy.
Bang was born in 1926, a true Depression-era baby. After a wealthy childhood (her family had a maid!), she rolled up her sleeves and moved to a dairy farm in Connecticut, raising six children with her husband. She patched clothes and devised frugal meals to feed a crowd. Her career path, though winding, always involved helping those in need: she worked with the Red Cross, for the Department of Children and Families, as a teacher, and with special needs kids. She served on many boards and committees and stepped into countless volunteer roles. Most painfully, she lost her beloved 32-year-old daughter to a drunk driver.
My grandparents at their 50th anniversary party
But Bang would tell you she had a wonderful life. She was married for over fifty years. She continued the legacy of a beautiful and historic family farm (the oldest continuously-working family farm in Connecticut, in fact). Her six children gave her seven grandchildren and five great-grandchildren, all of whom adored her. Until she needed nursing care at the end, she never lived more than a mile from at least one of her children. She was surrounded by loving community at every stage of her life, from her church, to her farming extension, to regional choruses, her extended family, and her island community in Maine. She did work that mattered. She spent time in the sunshine every day.
Playing on the beach in Maine while pregnant with Shep
Her worst offense? Trying to insert herself into every conversation within earshot (simply to listen – she was not one to give unwelcome advice). She had a ready smile and a generous, head-thrown-back laugh. She delighted in the people around her and was content to simply be near her family, even if she couldn’t follow our conversations as closely in the last few years.
Her Depression-era upbringing made for some of her most memorable characteristics. She didn’t want anything to go to waste, obviously, so she indulged in all the usual practices like folding wrapping paper and picking turkey carcasses to the bone. Her home was a maze of books to be donated and stacks of china a grandchild might one day want to have.
This actually led to an unusual family tradition I remember quite fondly. For several years, Bang provided all of the gifts for our extended-family Yankee Swap — by way of my aunts: they selected random items from her house and wrapped them for the exchange, seeing it as a way to remove a few items from the house in a way that Bang would accept. Some years you got a brand-new set of steak knives, sometimes you got an oven mitt imprinted with a local realtor’s contact info.
Family photos on the steps at our cottage in Maine, decades apart (in the top photo, my Dad is in yellow and Bang is in pink)
If there’s one tradition that sums Bang up, though, it’s probably this: at every holiday, she set a very long table (even when the table wasn’t her own). Our family has its share of glue at the seams, but that didn’t phase her. For years, our Christmas, Thanksgiving, or Easter dinner table might include her children, their spouses, and her grandchildren, yes, but also her children’s ex-wives, their new husbands, and various step-children. Everyone was not only welcome, but personally invited and expected to show up. Most people wouldn’t even think to extend the invitation, or if they did, would worry about awkwardness ensuing. That was not a concern for Bang, and her guileless, sunny personality made everyone feel welcome. Her love for people was unconditional.
So — there is clearly much to love, and much to emulate, here. In 2016, I wrote that “I would be thrilled to be just like her when I turn 90,” and I still feel that way. So the important question for me, now, is this: how can my life, in my home and in my 2024 setting, look more like hers? How can I, with my own circumstances and personality and responsibilities, be more like her? Our contexts are different, yes, but the direction to move in is the same, I think:
Love God.
Love and honor my husband.
Work on things that matter. Aim to help the least of these, no matter my job description.
Value extended family. Gather with them. See each imperfect person as the image bearer they are, and show obvious delight in them.
Focus on tending my mind and heart more than my looks and wardrobe. Think less about what I wear and how I look. Do more crossword puzzles.
Cherish simplicity. Be easy to delight.
Commit, and then show up. Give my best to help my church, schools, and local circles thrive. Act as a “pillar of the community” would.
Remember and honor the past. Tell family stories, even the worn-out ones everyone knows by heart.
Be “everyday active.” Build a life that’s as outside and active as possible.
Give generously and relationally. Don’t be afraid to see people up close, to draw near to them in their messiness and suffering.
Sing loudly and often. Laugh loudly and often.
And just try to enjoy it all.
Dancing with my Dad at my wedding
Bang lived a wonderful life. She is with Jesus, my grandfather, and her beloved daughter, whom she has waited so long to be reunited with (truly, the only part of this post that makes me tear up as I write it). She is no longer suffering, and she can listen in on all of our conversations with perfect clarity :)
Thank you, Bang, for everything. And thank you, friends, for letting me share. xo
