It’s been a while since I’ve written as frequently as I used to, and even longer since I’ve shared every little detail of my life online. For years, I documented every moment — meals, travels, outfits, thoughts — all neatly packaged for social media. Then life shifted. The pandemic arrived, routines were upended, and slowly, I realized I didn’t need to capture every second to feel connected.
Instead, I found comfort in the quiet. I fell in love with arranging flowers, setting the table just so, curling up with a good book, and learning the rhythms of cooking alongside my husband (he cooks, I mostly keep him company). I discovered how soothing it feels to host a gathering of friends, or to light a candle and notice its gentle scent filling the room. These small, sensory moments reminded me of the joy in simply being present.
Choosing Presence Over Perfection
As the holidays approach, I keep returning to one thought: the best gift I can give — to myself and to others — is presence. Not the kind of presence that means showing up physically but still scrolling on your phone. The kind where you put the phone down, breathe deeply, and give your full attention to the moment at hand.
Life moves quickly, and it’s all too easy to miss the sweetness when you’re constantly plugged in. True presence means noticing the flicker of candlelight on a winter night, the laughter of friends gathered around a table, the smell of something warm simmering on the stove. These are the things that linger, far more than any perfectly wrapped gift.
Memory in a Candle Flame
Scent, I’ve found, is one of the most powerful tools for presence. A fragrance can transport you instantly to another time, another place.
Imagine striking a match and lighting a candle that smells of fresh pine and white fir. Suddenly, you’re remembering childhood winters, decorating a tree or playing in the snow until your cheeks burned red. For me, the brisk mix of peppermint and warm vanilla recalls one of my fondest memories: dancing in The Nutcracker as a child. I can still see the Sugarplum Fairy twirling under the lights, and just like that, I’m backstage again, holding my breath in awe.
Other scents carry their own quiet magic — eucalyptus and sage calming the mind after a long day, or holly berry and cardamom conjuring up the warmth of a homemade meal. Pair those aromas with the delicate freshness of tulips, and you have a fragrance that feels like the holidays themselves.
The Year of Intention
This year, more than ever, I’m convinced that the most meaningful gifts are those that encourage slowing down. Instead of another sweater destined for the back of a closet or a bottle of champagne that blends into the bar cart, I want to offer something that inspires reflection, mindfulness, and appreciation of the moment.
For me, that gift comes in the form of candles. Not just any candles, but ones that feel as artful as they are aromatic. I recently discovered L’or de Seraphine, a home fragrance brand that has completely captured my heart. Their wax is sustainably sourced, clean-burning, and free of parabens. The vessels — patterned, elegant, and a little edgy — are designed to be repurposed as vases or containers long after the wax is gone.
Their latest release, the Félicité Collection, offers candles of every size at thoughtful price points, beautifully packaged and ready for gifting. What I love most is their timelessness: while inspired by the holidays, the designs blend effortlessly into any space year-round. It means you can keep a pine-scented candle glowing in February, and it still feels perfectly at home.
It’s a reminder, too, that presence isn’t seasonal. It’s something to carry with us into the new year and beyond. That’s why I’ve quietly named the coming year my “Year of Intention.” Each time life feels overwhelming, I want to come back to that mantra — to view life through a finite lens, savoring the details instead of rushing past them.
A Different Kind of Holiday
This holiday season doesn’t look like years past. I’m not overscheduling with work events or covering every inch of my home in decorations. I’m doing just enough — enough to feel festive, enough to create space for joy.
The rest, I’m leaving open. Open for quiet nights with a hot toddy in hand, for laughing with friends without checking the clock, for reading by candlelight until I fall asleep. For choosing the small, simple things that ground me and remind me of what matters most.
Because when I think about what I want to carry into the new year, it isn’t more. It’s less. Less noise, less distraction, less rushing. And in its place: presence, intention, and the magic of the smallest moments.