It’s the most wonderful time of year, as told to us by innumerable songs, movies and decorations celebrating the season. Whether you deck the halls with boughs of holly, candelit menorahs, vibrant kinara, or other signs of your chosen holiday, it’s all an acknowledgment that this time of year is something special. Even if you choose to not celebrate, it may be difficult to not feel at least some sentiment about the seasonal cycle coming to an end. Or maybe I’m just overly sentimental.

I’m writing this as much for me as anyone who might come across this, like my good friend Bobrov—so pardon the focus on my own experiences. From my perspective, it feels like I have much to be grateful for. I’m in good health despite my best efforts to the contrary. I have good friends and close family members. While I’m in poverty on the books, I don’t struggle for food or shelter. If I fall sick, I’m covered thanks to Medicaid. Gainful employment escapes me, but I’m still able to get by with the little I make. I look at my life and then look at what’s going on—what’s been going on, in different places and times across the world. News cycles are filled with the latest atrocities inflicted in Ukraine and Gaza. Tensions are flaring in regions beyond. Struggle and strife abound beyond what’s widely reported on, and we can watch it all unfold from the safety of our homes.

I’m thankful for my good fortune, but it’s difficult for me to feel glad for it. Mere chance of birth has, as much as any post-birth factor determined whether I sleep in the comfort of my home or an improvised bomb shelter. There’s nothing that can be done about it; no magic button exists that can retroactively swap people’s lives for some abstract concept of cosmic justice. Like any socially conscious citizen I do give back when I can. I volunteer, and donate to charities that I feel are a good use of what money I can spare.

It’s still not easy to shake that feeling of guilt, as unproductive as it is. What I find helps best if that nagging self-flagellation lingers is to just take stock of the year. Look back at what you’ve accomplished, from January 1st to now. Think really hard; if you’re like me you’ll forget the vast majority of positives, since they’re hardly as interesting to dwell on as the failures. Maybe you finished that woodworking project you said you’d start in 2020, started in 2021 and finally finished in June. It doesn’t matter how long it took, only that you finished it. Maybe you finally landed a new job, or managed to make a new habit start to stick. Hell, it could even be as simple as learning a new recipe. Every little victory counts, because they all add to the whole that we’ve become over the years.

As I’ve gotten older, the holiday season has started to feel more like a celebration of the little things. It’s those little things that add up, that become the nebulous, indescribable feeling of having a coveted ‘good life.’ Having a comfortable bed, feeling the cold wind blow as you leave your warm and toasty house, or even the smell of fresh coffee brewing in a store that doesn’t mind if you linger for a little while.

I find myself thinking of the truly timeless classic It’s A Wonderful Life. When I first watched it, I wasn’t sure if I liked it. I focused more on the injustice of George’s money being stolen than the goodwill he received from the townspeople later on. ‘Sure, it was nice,’ I had thought, ‘but Potter still got the money!’

I still think that, but now I suppose my perspective’s shifted. Justice is entirely concept of the sentient. A hungry wolf doesn’t care what good or evil you’ve done, only that you’re warm and filled with meat. Maybe Potter does get away with the money. He might even live a happy life of his own and ruin some other town later on. We can seethe about the untouchable villain who played the game and won, or we can look to our lives and our community. We can look after us and ours, and simply make sure that we don’t succeed at the expense of others. Society isn’t built on one person’s vision, but a collective consciousness that we aren’t aware of, but all contribute to. In helping George, the townspeople reaffirmed their commitment to looking after their community—and they did so in a way that wasn’t going to hurt any others. If every community could do that, I think we’d be pretty well off. Sure, it might not happen. But what if it did?

These posts of mine are a guilty pleasure, where I can cut myself loose and ramble about, as I’m fond of saying (and my uncle who I took the phrase from), matters of great interest but little importance. No formatting, no editing or other polish to appeal to unseen others. To those who deign to read a stranger’s ramblings, I send my thanks and my sincerest wishes for a good winter season.