Slow living, simple rituals, and finding calm in a busy holiday time and imperfect life
The days before Christmas tend to arrive carrying a certain weight.
Lists, expectations, the quiet pressure to make everything feel meaningful.
This year, I felt that familiar pull — and chose to step slightly to the side of it.
Not away from Christmas.
Just away from the rush.
It was raining in the way it often does here in December — gently, steadily, without urgency. A few ornaments hung from a maple tree outside, swaying just enough to catch the light. They weren’t meant to be there, not really, but somehow they belonged.
I stood there longer than necessary, watching the rain, noticing how calm can exist even when nothing is finished.
Later, I wandered through a Christmas store. Not with intention, but with curiosity. No list tucked into my pocket, no vision to fulfill. I moved slowly, letting colors and textures pass by, resisting the urge to turn admiration into ownership.
It felt like enough to simply notice.
At home, the tree waited. I adjusted a branch, then another. Some ornaments felt right where they were; others needed to move. The room shifted gradually, becoming warmer without announcing the change.
Nothing about it was perfect. Everything about it felt real.
In the kitchen, I clipped a few green branches and set them in a simple vase. I lit a candle and watched the flame steady itself. These small rituals don’t demand attention, but they change the tone of a room — and sometimes, a day.
Baking biscotti came later, unhurried. The kind of task that fills the space with warmth and makes time feel less sharp. These weren’t meant to impress anyone. Just something homemade, meant to be shared.
I wrapped the biscotti once they had cooled, wrote a few Christmas cards, added my favorite tea, and arranged the gifts without worrying about symmetry. There was no rush to finish everything at once.
Just one small thing at a time.
Tea followed. Poured in the kitchen, carried carefully into the living room. A cup, a plate, the soft glow of the fire. The kind of moment that feels almost too ordinary to mention — until you realize how rarely you allow yourself to sit inside it.
Max started to drift off in my lap while I gently petted him. I stayed there longer than planned — it was one of those perfect moments you don’t want to end.
There was nowhere else to be.
Life doesn’t become calmer because everything is finished. It becomes calmer when we stop waiting for the “right” moment to soften into it.
My life is full. Sometimes messy. Often imperfect.
And still — these small, quiet pockets of attention make it feel whole.
This is what slow living looks like for me.
Not a different life.
Just this one, held more gently.
If you’d like to experience this day with me, you can watch the video here.
Links mentioned
- Biscotti recipe: Cranberry Pistachio Biscotti (Allrecipes)
- Featured Tea: Lovare Tea (Made in Ukraine)
(Some links may be affiliate links. I only share things I genuinely use and enjoy.)