When the World Feels Dark, We Choose the Light

I wish I could say something lighter, but these last couple of weeks have been… a lot.

The world feels tense and overwhelmed. People hurting people. Pain stacked upon pain.

It’s impossible not to feel it.

But here’s the thing I keep coming back to — especially now: This is the season where every single spiritual tradition celebrates the return of light.

Every one.

Christians welcome Jesus — hope entering the world in the most humble way.

Jewish families light the Menorah — one small flame that refuses to die, reminding us that courage multiplies.

In India, Diwali fills the streets with lamps — light pushing back the darkness, joy insisting on being seen.

Buddhists honor the moment enlightenment bloomed under a tree — a reminder that truth can arrive quietly, without fireworks.

And across indigenous cultures, the Winter Solstice marks the turning — the longest night giving birth to the sun again.

Different stories, different rituals… but they’re all saying the same thing: Light always finds its way back.

And our job is to stay open enough to let it in.

So here’s my wish for you, for me, and for everyone we love: That we focus on the light — not by pretending everything is fine, but by choosing not to let the heaviness dim who we are.

That we protect our joy the way you’d cup your hands around a flickering candle — gently, intentionally.

That we stay soft, even when the world feels sharp. That compassion becomes our quiet form of strength. And most of all…

That you remember the light inside you is real — steady, ancient, and unshakeable — even when the world feels dark.

This is the moment to slow down.

To breathe.

To reconnect with what truly matters.

To let the small things become enough again.

So let’s make this choice — together:

This holiday season, we choose the light.

Again and again and again.

Wishing you a season of warmth, tenderness, connection, and those tiny everyday miracles that show up right when you need them most.

With love,

Noel

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When the Detour Becomes the Destination 

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The Year I Forgot My Word (and the Universe Broke My Wrist)