I’m living the Great American Cliché: every year, despite my crystalline awareness of its approach, the holiday season swarms me with a staggering swiftness that feels unexpected. This year, in addition to gorging on calories, consumables, and stress, I’ve resolved to take time and establish a new, year-end tradition: handwritten letters to my children.
Most people accept the concept that we all have a basic need to feel as if we matter to someone. Despite my own emotional intellect, I don’t typically take the time to express the specific aspects that I cherish about the people in my world to the people in my world. I attempted these “What I Like About You” conversations with my children, but was confronted with suspicious squints, and I wondered if they comprehended the depth and breadth of my sentiments.
This was the seed of inspiration for