Somehow I always cry on planes. 

Picked out of the hustle and shot up into thin air—it is here my heart can hear. 

My Aunt Patti died this past fall. 

And it may seem ordinary and inevitable except she was my hero. She taught me grace, how to hold myself as a woman and in a prominent family with compassion. She taught me style. How to wear a scarf or diamonds with ease, with flair. 

At Christmas, every room in her house had a tree. 

Even the bathrooms—and that influenced me. Taught me to understand the importance ambiance and home. When my sister almost died, she’d invite me to her kitchen and make me a salad with bacon bits, and tell me stories of when my divorced parents were in love. 

And now how time flies, and so much uncertainty lies in the faces of those in the grocery lines. How short people seem with one another, out of fear and stress for their families. How the receptionist at the eye doctor spoke about being so sick of eating only chicken salad and how those you think are fine, are not.

Where can the light be these holidays…? How to tend the fire, and not give up hope. 

I’ll turn to Patti—

Who had countless hardships in her life, although most only noticed her Mercedes or perfect jawline. We are all suffering. We all need more love, more resources to remind us to keep the lights twinkling—even in your bathroom.

And not let the darkness overcome.

Happy Solstice Rising + A Merry Christmas,