Holidays are supposed to arrive gently.
Marked by familiar rituals.
By comfort.
By things we expect.
But sometimes the season is interrupted.
A sound you didn’t anticipate.
An impact you didn’t see coming.
A moment where everything shifts, and suddenly the world you knew five minutes ago no longer exists in the same way.
When a car crashed into my house, it wasn’t just damage to walls and windows. It was the feeling that routine had been broken. That life, once again, had reminded me how quickly everything can change. It was Thanksgiving. We were together, as a family. Then, just like that, everything changed.
It felt strangely familiar.
Like the moment when someone you love is gone,
grief enters—the light in the room changes.
There is a pause that follows moments like these —
not one we choose, but one we are given.
A forced stillness.
A slowing we didn’t plan for.
The world keeps moving,
but we are held in place,
trying to understand how we got here.
And the holidays don’t stop.
Lights still glow.
People still rush.
Music still plays.
But inside, we begin to move differently.
More carefully.
More slowly.
We notice what matters
because we have no energy left for what doesn’t.
This kind of pause is not peaceful —
at least not at first.
It carries fear, frustration, and unanswered questions.
It asks us to breathe when breathing feels hard.
So now it’s Christmas, and so much is still unresolved with my house.
With every breath, I need to swallow frustration.
Allow space for unanswered questions.
Let the uncomfortable pause not paralyze me with fear,
but teach me.
Life is fragile.
Control is an illusion.
Presence — real, honest presence —
is sometimes all we have to offer.
So this holiday season, I’m allowing interruption.
I’m letting disruption invite stillness.
I’m honoring the pause —
even when it arrives through shock or loss.
Because sometimes,
when the world changes in an instant,
the most human thing we can do is
stop and remember:
I am here.
I am breathing.
I need to let that be enough.
Tranquil Resources 