The Evolution of Christmas

The Evolution of Christmas

I can safely say that Christmas is not my favorite holiday—but it has always been a milestone in this life. Not to be a Grinch; I’d just rather reflect on the season itself than feel the never-ending pressure to find the perfect gift, the perfect outfit, the perfect ham. Ugh—so much pressure!

Every year, you know the players: the good, the bad, and everything in between. They shift and evolve, just like life does. Some years feel steady and familiar; others surprise us. Either way, the season has a way of reminding us that change is part of the story.

If nothing else, the end-of-year holidays invite reflection—on what has come and gone, on where you are now, and on where you stood a year ago. They stir memories of what we label as “better times,” even though they weren’t always perfect. Sometimes it’s just a single moment we cling to, thinking maybe, just maybe, if I find the perfect gift, it will fix everything. Just me?

And maybe that’s the gift of memory—not to trap us in the past, but to remind us what’s possible—selective memory softening the harder edges, preserving what felt safe and whole. We keep searching for moments of love, hope, meaning, and faith—not because something is broken, but because we’re human, and wonder still matters, hope still matters, always looking for more moments to make a new memory. We keep searching for moments of love, hope, and magic to help heal the broken parts. Moments that still feel close enough to touch.

Don’t get me wrong—some of those memories really are precious. So perfect they almost glow. Like the years my family dressed in our very best and attended midnight mass, or traveled to St. Andrews Chapel in Sewanee to listen to the Nine Lessons and Carols. Sitting there—wrapped in music, quiet, and candle lite tradition—felt deeply grounding. Faith made tangible. A reminder that something bigger than us was holding the room. Those moments were truly magical, and they deserve to be held with gratitude and joy.

When I was little, I swore I could fly. Like—actually fly.

I remember one year on Main Street—I must have been four—when my dad brought home the biggest Christmas tree that ever existed.( picture attached!)  It touched the ceiling and felt like the most magical thing I had ever seen. An angel sat on top, watching over it all—a quiet symbol of protection, wonder, and belief.

I shimmied up the door frame, which was how I always “took flight” back then. Inch by inch, I climbed until my head brushed the top of the doorway—and then I took off. I wanted a better look at that angel. How did it even get up there? I’ll never know. But I do know I flew—hair softly blowing as I rose above it all—before gently landing back on the carpet, safe, sound, and full of magic.

As children, anything is possible. The world feels enchanted, belief comes easily, and magic lives right alongside us—whether it’s in Santa, stars, fairies or simply the feeling that we are held by something bigger than ourselves.

I was surrounded by safety, love, and a house full of siblings—something I always knew was a luxury. I was the youngest of four, the only child of two second marriages, something I would later understand shaped my ideas of love, success, failure and life itself. Christmas was one of the few times each year when we were all together, adn that was only sometimes—and those moments mattered.

Over the past few years, I’ve noticed that slowly the magic coming back. And I’ve realized it never really left. Sometimes it just waits patiently for us to notice it again—or to make room for something new. To believe again.

To believe that I can fly. (however metaphorically)The believe that I am seen, that I am making a difference in this life. To someone, somwhere.

That I am magic.That you are magic.

As we step into the new year, we invite you to find and nurture that spark—whatever it looks like for you—with us at Blank Space Community Center. A place intentionally created to hold creativity, connection, reflection, and joy. ( and maybe a little bit of magic) Through art, community, and simply showing up as you are, Blank Space exists to help make new memories and reconnect you to what grounds you, inspires you, and brings you hope.

What are you missing? What are you longing to bring back into your life? Maybe—just maybe—you don’t need the past at all. Or maybe it’s simply there as a friendly reminder. What you might need now are new experiences, new spaces, and new people to remind you that every year, every day, every moment is still waiting for a new memory to be formed—and maybe even a little bit of magic.

The magic is still there.

You are still in there.

Still that little girl ( or boy!)  who can fly.

And when you’re ready, we’d love to welcome you into the Blank Space Community.

Happy Holidays (even from a reformed Grinch ),

Jenn

The Biggest Tree!