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The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year (In The Most Terrible Time To Be Alive)

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I am almost 30 years old, but I still wake up with a thrill on Christmas morning like I did when I was five. I’m not entirely sure if that’s due to some Pavlovian response or if that’s just the child in me responding to the twinkle of the Christmas tree.

I like to get up earlier than everyone else and sit cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by the darkness except for the tree and the wash of light from a made-for-TV Christmas movie.

It feels like a form of meditation, silent night bleeding into holy morning that only I am there to witness.The feeling lasts for less and less time these days, though.

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