11.12.2025

When I bought my condo in 2012, it was clear the place had seen better days — flimsy curtains, faded carpeting, a pink bathroom sink, and wallpaper borders straight out of 1992. It had been maintained, but it hadn't been loved and cared for in a long time.

Still, I saw potential. What I didn’t realize at the time was that the condo’s state mirrored my own.

Recently divorced and forced to give up nearly all my possessions, I too felt faded around the edges — intact, but neglected. There wasn’t much time to wallow, though. I was still working full-time and managing a team, so I did what I could when I could. I had the place painted, upgraded to a white bathroom sink, and replaced the old appliances one at a time. But really, I was doing only the bare minimum.

When Christmas rolled around that first year, decorating was the last thing on my mind. I no longer had my beautiful ornaments or treasured decorations from my “before” life, and I couldn’t bring myself to start over. So I didn’t. I mentally skipped that Christmas altogether.

The following year, I did the same. I told myself,  I’m too old for this stuff, and it’s not worth it. Besides, my parents still decorated, and I was spending the holidays with them, so why bother?

Then came the year my parents — both in their eighties — announced they wouldn’t be decorating anymore. At that point, I realized it was my turn to carry the torch. So, somewhat begrudgingly, I bought a white artificial tree (a nod to the mid-century vintage aluminum ones I’d always admired but couldn’t afford) and a few ornaments.

That year, when my parents came to spend Christmas with me, they were delighted. Seeing how much they enjoyed basking in the glow of those twinkling tree lights reignited the light in me, too. So, the next year, I added more decorations. And then more. Little by little, I rediscovered the joy I’d once felt in decking the halls, tables, shelves and just about anything else that had a flat surface with enough room to hold a sequenced penguin and a red nosed reindeer.

That’s when it hit me: my old mantra of it’s not worth it was really me telling myself I wasn't worth it - that I wasn't worth the effort of showing up for my own self. Realizing that I could do something simply because it brought me joy was both surprising and liberating.

When my mother passed away, I inherited her collection of holiday décor. Let me tell you, the woman was a universalist when it came to decorations. She decorated for every. Single. Season.

Now, at Mardi Gras, on the dining room table sit a porcelain king and queen (purchased years ago from our favorite store - Pier One - the place that sold everything you wanted but nothing you needed).

They’re followed by pink hearts and gnomes for Valentine’s Day, emerald green ribbons, candles and a “Shake Your Shamrocks” sign for St. Patrick’s Day, and a clutch of ceramic bunnies for Easter and spring.

After a three-month lull, out come the glass pumpkins for fall, interspersed with souvenirs I purchased on a trip overseas years ago – small figurines celebrating Octoberfest – and yes, they conveniently double for Thanksgiving. (Stay with me, here - thematically, it does work because I’m sure somewhere in the world, someone is having a beer and sausage on the last Thursday of November.)

Yes, it’s a pain to haul out and pack up the bins. Yes, I had to buy a storage rack for the garage to hold them all. And yes, most of the time, I’m the only one who sees any of it. But that’s not the point. The point is the ritual — about honoring the passage of time, and being filled with gratitude for the gift of being here to celebrate one more season.

There’s another benefit as well. Getting older means you forget about certain trinkets until you unpack them again, and suddenly it really is like opening presents on Christmas morning and getting the gifts you really like and want.

And then, for me, there’s the staging of the nativity sets — a director’s dream come true. Each year, I get to decide who I will cast in the featured roles. One year it’s the shepherds, another the kings.  This year, in honor of all the fur babies I’ve been lucky enough to love, it will be the animals. Sheep, sheepdogs, camels, chickens and donkeys — places, please. It’s your turn to shine.

The older I get, the more I believe that downsizing should never mean diminishing ourselves and making our lives smaller.  Life changes, spaces shrink, but our capacity to celebrate — to take joy in the simple, silly, sacred rituals — should keep growing.

Because every time we get to unpack those decorations, we’re really unpacking our memories, and our lives. It's an opportunity to give thanks for the chance to experience it all over again, one more time.

And that, I’ve learned, is worth every bit of effort.

*Title inspired by the traditional carol “Deck the Halls.”