Lights in November
Plus the gift research I'll do for you
So we hung the Christmas lights yesterday. Way too early by any reasonable standard. The neighbor definitely thinks I’ve lost it.
And you know what? I don’t care.
I used to wait for the “right time.” The day after Thanksgiving. But I’ve started to realize I don’t want to live a life where joy is only allowed on a schedule.
I’m done pretending rest needs to be earned. I’m putting the lights up early. Lighting every candle I own. Choosing softness even when everything feels sharp.
Hope isn’t pretending things are fine. It’s caring anyway. It’s hanging lights in November because maybe someone else needs the glow too.
I rewrote this five times, and it still doesn’t feel perfect. But maybe that’s exactly right.
We don’t need to figure it out. We just need permission to show up messy.
To buy the pie. To want ease. To know we’re not alone in craving gentleness.
I’ll keep showing up. You do too.
Deal?
You have 87 tabs open right now, don’t you (please don’t count them)?
Seventeen gift guides. That one article you’ve read three times. And you still don’t know what to get them.
Your mom. Your husband. That friend who somehow already owns everything good.
Here’s the thing: I’m already doing this. I’m the friend who falls down research rabbit holes at midnight. Who keeps notes on what people mention they need six months before their birthday, who genuinely, weirdly loves this.
So I made something.
Just fill out this form; it takes two minutes. I’m not asking you to write an essay (I promise).
Next, I’ll do what I do best: the obsessive research part. You get the options. You make it look effortless.
That’s it. That’s the thing.
You’ve given this space your time, your trust, and a little corner of your inbox.
Let me make your holidays easier in return.
Not the curated, basic same-same, with a different font version. My real list. My husband, who won’t buy himself new glasses. My son, who wants a car (he’s six). My effortlessly chic mom. My dad with the December birthday. The British in-laws.
The stuff I’m overthinking at 11 pm. The things they’d never get themselves. The budget version and the dream version.
You can steal all of it.