My childhood Christmases were a flurry of excessive activity. We barely stopped moving for two months straight—decorating, baking, caroling, shopping, and partying. And none of it was even remotely enjoyable. The only time I remember liking any part of the holidays was when I spent the weekend before Christmas with my grandma every year.
Grandma’s house was warm and quiet and at Christmas time, it smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. My cousin Kit and I would snuggle on Grandma’s couch under furry blankets while we ate cookies and watched Christmas movies. Charlie Brown was first every year, the one where Linus gives that speech about the true meaning of Christmas that ends with ‘and on earth peace, goodwill toward men.’ I never really understood that when I was a kid, but it makes so much sense to me now. What better way is there to celebrate Christmas than with peace and compassion.
Grandma died four years ago—right before I started college. Her death was the reason I chose UCLA. Before she died, she told me that ‘sometimes you have to break free of what you know to find out who you are.’ I still think of that every day. Moving to California freed me up to be who I always knew deep down I was supposed to be—an easy-going, peaceful soul. I’ve left all the chaos I felt growing up back in Atlanta.
“Noelle.” Lola shakes me. “Girl, you got deep into meditation today. Or are you just trying to delay picking up your mom? Get up. Class is over.”
I leap off the mat and grab my phone out of the cubby behind me. Mom’s plane lands in forty-five minutes. I meant to leave class early, so I could go home and change. No time for that now. She’s going to hate that I’m wearing yoga pants, hate that my hair’s sweaty, and hate that I’m running late.
So much for peace on earth. Let the chaos begin.
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