Like many of us, I have very fond childhood memories of loading up for family activities every season: rolling onto the grass of the local all-you-can-pick farm in the summer, apple orchards in the fall, Christmas tree hunting in the winter. Every year, without fail, there were squabbles about just how many berries you needed for the perfect pie or whose turn it was to wield that giant apple-picking pole thing. It was part of the fun. Living at home meant the drives were quick, the baking unhurried, and the lingering long. Full in more ways than one, I’d happily doze in my own bed after any given seasonal experience and count the days until we did it again next year.
It’s little wonder that when I moved to New York for college, I had an insatiable quest to take advantage of everything the city had to offer (stop me if you’ve heard this one before). Plays, concerts, restaurants — my bucket list grew by the minute. To further compete with myself, it quickly became clear that I needed a totally separate *Christmas* bucket list for the holiday season.
Soon enough, my list was as long as St. Nick’s naughty or nice inventory. My required holiday experiences included ice skating, seeing the Rockettes, going to The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center (possible only thanks to student ticket prices), shopping in any sort of “winter village,” admiring the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree… all the biggies.
But then there were also the ones I “had to say” I did: see a jazz band play holiday classics, line up with every other person in New York for the Macy’s windows, look at Christmas trees other than the one at Rockefeller Center. If I was spending Christmas in New York, I had to go all-in.
Nearly 20 years later, as I look back, I marvel. For one, at how much energy I had. But really, how hellbent I was on doing everything — even things I didn’t really care about — to fill my Christmas cup.
Today, I’m still in the city, but with a family of my own, it takes considerably more effort to coordinate any kind of seasonal excursion. Because kids. But also because I live in a different state than my parents, without a car. To try to recapture some of the magic of those hectic seasons of my youth would require renting a car, making the trip, and then rushing out to beat the traffic. It’s overwhelming.
Four years ago, post-pandemic and postpartum, I couldn’t muster the energy to make the trip out for family apple day in the fall. At the time, it really felt heartbreaking: Was my favorite tradition now forever spoiled, like the ninth apple that had rotted on the counter by the time I finally got around to eating it?
No, it just meant it was different now.
This year marked the second time we missed the trip. It was a busy season. Not only did we have school stuff in the mix, but my husband and I also had a destination wedding we’d been anticipating all year. While we were away, my parents took my daughter apple picking. I wonder if they didn’t tell me until after the fact because they didn’t want to upset me. And at first, I was upset. Then I realized that if I wasn’t able to make the day happen for her, I’m glad they could.
These days, my bucket list (especially around Christmas) is a lot shorter. Like, one or two things long. Pictures with Santa? Sign me up. Local tree lighting? Sure, maybe I’ll see you there. Otherwise, we’re staying home — a far cry from my former winters spent trying to cram every possible seasonal activity into a few months’ time.
I know now that trying to schedule fun into every minute of every night and weekend takes away the whole ~savor the season~ vibe. And I think it’s so important for my young daughter to see me enjoying the holidays right alongside her. With all the grown-up responsibilities the season brings to begin with, all I want for Christmas is to put on some ridiculous pompom socks and sit down somewhere. Because in those quieter moments are their own holiday magic: introducing your kid to Home Alone, reminiscing over souvenir Christmas ornaments, gobbling Reese’s shaped like Christmas trees.
So, here’s a permission slip that I’m offering to myself and to you, too: You don’t have to do all the seasonal stuff. Make time for one or two favorites, because if you try to pack it all in, there won’t be much space left over for joy. And I want to make as much space as I can — for joy, of course, but also for store-bought Christmas cookies.
When she is not practicing drums or folding sweatpants, Meredith Begley likes to read and write about health. Find her on Instagram @meredithbegley.
