One of my fondest childhood memories is of shutting off all the lights in our living room except the ones on the Christmas tree and stretching out on the couch. I'd just lie there in the quiet darkness, basking in the lights on the tree as they twinkled beside me.

I didn't need company, or conversation. I didn't need sound. Not the television or a Christmas movie in the background. I didn't need carols streaming softly from the stereo.

I didn't need my iPhone. I didn't need to post a picture of the tree and lights on Instagram. I didn't need the company of Facebook or Twitter.

I didn't need to have everything on my to-do list crossed off before I could settle down and enjoy being there in the darkness.

I didn't need the act itself to be an item on my to-do list in order to give myself permission to do it in the first place.

This year I'm wondering: when, exactly, did I lose the ability to just be? To just enjoy the season?

I'm always rushing now, and never more than during the holidays.

Our to-do list stretches longer than usual in December. The list of gifts to buy grows every year. We keep adding activities to our calendar. 

Often, what should be a joyful, festive activity becomes nothing more than another thing to get done.

I rush the kids to hang the ornaments on the tree. I worry: are they dropping hooks on the floor? Will the hooks destroy the vacuum cleaner? Does the furniture look too crowded in its temporary holiday arrangement? Do we need a new tree skirt? Where can I find one that's affordable and matches our mid-century decor?

Should we change the ornaments this year? We've had white and silver for a long time now. Would the kids have a better Christmas if there was more color on the tree? (I've actually thought this.)

Do I buy new ornaments now, or wait until after-Christmas clearance sales?

We don't have a tree topper. We never have had. Again, I'm stymied by indecision. Should we have a star? A big bow? An angel? But my husband is an atheist. Would he be irritated by a religious element in our holiday decor?

I stress over bows. Ribbon or raffia? Wide or narrow ribbon? Solid color or printed? Should the gift wrap be color-coordinated? Red and green? Silver and blue? What about gift tags? Should they go on the top or bottom? Store bought or homemade? Should I ask my husband to print the names, since his handwriting is so much nicer than mine?

Will this be the year that I decide to stop the holiday madness? Will this be the year that I go back to the basics? That I attempt to recapture the sweet simplicity of my own childhood Christmases?
My mom never color-coordinated gift wrap. She used inexpensive stick-on bows. Gift tags were nothing special, always on top, rarely matching the gift wrap itself, inscribed with her rather sloppy handwriting.

But my most treasured memories aren't of how the gifts were wrapped. I remember how they were piled enticingly beneath the tree in the weeks leading up to Christmas. I remember how my sister and I spent hours reading and re-reading the gift tags. How we discussed what toys were inside the boxes, and how we'd play with them. Or when we were older, what item of clothing, and how we'd wear it.

We'd heat mugs of apple juice—not even cider, just juice—in the microwave, then stir it with a peppermint stick until the flavor infused the juice. We didn't need a fancy, Starbucks-inspired caramel brulée latte.  Just cheap apple juice and an even cheaper piece of candy.

We didn't need a tree that looked like it belonged on a Pinterest holiday decorating board. We didn't need a social calendar that was crammed to the gills. We didn't need color-coordinated this or uniquely themed that.

We needed love, and we needed lights on the tree, and we needed time to enjoy it all. 

My husband and I talked about having a holiday open house this year. I'm thinking we'll pass on that. 

Instead, I'll make my way into our den. I'll turn out all the lights except those on the Christmas tree and I'll lie on the couch. And, in an ode to my 10 year-old self, that's all I'll do. I'll just be.