While I may still be operating with a degree of jet lag after my European adventure, the very first item on my itinerary once I arrived home was to get my holiday wreath and a Christmas tree.
Each year, one of the simple joys I look forward to most is picking out a real tree. The color, the smell, the shape—I take it all seriously. And honestly, the only thing that really changes from year to year is the size of the tree. (I swear I’m not doing it intentionally, but they somehow keep getting bigger.)
But this year felt different. For the past two holiday seasons after my grandmother passed, I stopped putting a tree up entirely. It was too painful to lean into the holiday spirit, too hard to celebrate traditions we once shared together. My ornaments have remained wrapped and tucked away in my closet along with the rest of my holiday décor. Still, something about this year nudged me to revisit what was once a cherished ritual.
So, with exhaustion still lingering in my eyes, I set out to secure my wreath and a Christmas tree. This time, though, I decided to go small and minimalist. I stopped at my usual place to pick up a wreath for my door—and one for my grandmother’s grave—but their tree selection was limited. Later, while running errands, I came across a few trees that were exactly the size I had in mind. I wasted no time picking one out and bringing it home.
Once home, I added white lights and began unpacking my (admittedly immense) ornament collection. But as I stepped back, I realized how much I loved the simplicity of the tree with just the lights. I did find a beautiful tree topper online from West Elm and was able to pick it up locally, and with that, my home felt ready for the holidays.
While I still struggle to fully immerse myself in the season, putting up a tree again helped me feel a little more like myself. Sometimes healing is found in the smallest steps back to the traditions that once brought us joy. This year, for me, that step was a little tree filled with light.
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