I love the holidays now that I know I can’t control a damn thing about them.
I have finally accepted the fact that cheap decorations tear up. That food can burn. That red wine stains don’t come out of carpet. Ever. That younger relatives don’t want to hear your advice about where to go to school and what to study. Or who to marry. Or who to divorce. That drunk uncles, aunts and sometimes siblings and cousins will curse everybody out because the liquor store has closed.
And you know what? It’s a beautiful thing. Because the older and wiser I grow, the more I understand that the beauty of love—of family—of anything, really—is that it will be what it is all by itself and without your help. Your only job is to appreciate it for what it is.
Love your families—both functional and dysfunctional alike. If you have a roof over your head, be thankful for it. If you ate yesterday, shout hallelujah because somebody surely did not.
Be happy. Be thankful.