Sunday Before Christmas

Also Known As: The Calm Before the Tinsel Storm

Dear Friends,

If Christmas were a play (and it is), today would be the dress rehearsal where everyone pretends they’re ready, no one actually is, and someone realizes they bought six boxes of butter but forgot the eggs.

Welcome to the Sunday before Christmas—the day when time becomes stretchy, lists multiply, and you suddenly develop strong opinions about wrapping paper.

Today is a strange, sacred space. Not quite frantic. Not quite peaceful. A liminal zone where the tree is up, the lights are on, and you almost believe you’ve planned this beautifully.

Almost.

This is the day when:

• You reassure yourself that “it will all get done.”
• You find gifts you forgot you bought (win!).
• You realize you hid other gifts so well you may never find them again (less win).

Somewhere, a cookie spreadsheet exists. Somewhere else, a smoke detector battery has chosen this exact week to chirp every 47 seconds. The universe has jokes.

Let’s talk about expectations for a moment—those glossy, well-lit, magazine versions of Christmas that suggest everyone wakes up joyful, dressed nicely, and smelling faintly of cinnamon.

In real life, someone will spill something.

Someone will be late.

Someone will ask, “Didn’t we already eat?” approximately 12 minutes after finishing a meal.

And it will still be Christmas.

This Sunday is your invitation to lower the bar gently—not abandon it, just slide it down a notch or two so you don’t trip over it carrying a hot pan.

You do not need:

• Matching pajamas (unless you enjoy them)
• Perfect cookies (lopsided counts)
• A spotless house (people live there)

You might want:

• One good candle
• One good song
• One moment where you sit down and do absolutely nothing productive

If you are hosting, today is the day to prep what can be prepped and release what cannot. If you are traveling, today is the day to locate chargers, medications, and the emotional resilience required for airport announcements.

If you are staying home? Congratulations—you have won a small but meaningful lottery.

Take a walk if the weather allows. Or sit by a window and watch other people rush around. This is highly underrated entertainment.

Eat something comforting. Soup counts. Toast counts. That handful of chocolate you didn’t technically “plate” still counts.

And let’s acknowledge the quiet stuff too.

The empty chairs.

The people we miss.

The complicated feelings that show up uninvited, wearing a Santa hat.

They belong here too. Christmas is roomy like that.

Tonight, before the week revs up again, try this:

Turn off the overhead lights.

Put on music you don’t have to think about.

Let the glow do the work.

You’re closer than you think.

The important things are already in the room.

And if all else fails, remember this timeless holiday truth:

No one will remember if the gravy had lumps.

But they will remember how it felt to be there.

Wishing you a gentle, humorous, imperfect, and very human lead-up to Christmas.

Warmly,

Julie Bolejack, MBA🎄

P.S. Taking a political break, at least that is the plan (fingers crossed)

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