When the Holidays Hit Different

Whether your household is like National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation or more like something straight out of a Hallmark movie, the holidays can be both uplifting and trying! This Christmas will be the first without my father (bless him and God rest his soul), so there are a bunch of firsts going on:

·       Missing his sense of humor with wearing ribbons, bows, or paper from whatever he unwrapped

·       Not being able to see his own awe and wonder as he watched the grandkids open their presents

·       Heading up the table for a traditional holiday meal together without him

·       More which I know I’ll smack into but won’t know until the second it happens

I miss him dearly now, and there’s a certain irony in what he passed along to me: he struggled with his own father as he aged, yet, in his later years, my dad really wished he had both of his parents back. As you dig in with me, you will quickly come to know that I spent a number of years being the boots-on-the ground caregiver for my father. While this took a toll on me in various ways and, inasmuch as I may have griped and talked about my own overflowing emotional bucket in the past, nothing can quite fill the emptiness a loved one’s passing creates.

Rather than a simple “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,” I thought I’d impart a few words of advice that have to do with the family, your own heart, and beyond.

First, and sorry for the cliché, find ways to be with loved ones, especially over the holidays.

Every household is different, but hopefully you feel like being with loved ones is a joyful occasion instead of burdensome. I recall when my in-law grandparents came to town, it sometimes felt like a scene straight out of the movie Sixteen Candles – there goes my bedroom for the week!

Sure, that week was always awkward with me going to get some clothes from my room and seeing gramps with his trousers down (it’s not just sleeping on a couch that helped me get NO sleep, ha). Yet, it’s amazing how quickly that memory is but a long-gone speck in the rearview mirror. And I wish I could talk to them one more time to tell them how thankful I am for all they did for/with me when they were alive.   

Second, find ways to follow your heart.

This whole concept of how time elapses more quickly as you age? It couldn’t be truer (and scarier). If you’re not following your heart, you need to alter your path. For some, it may mean a significant turn is ahead. For others, it may mean that you simply need to be more aware of where your current path is headed.

As many of you know, my heart was leading me in a little different direction not too long ago and, it took an outside event to get me to see it. I’d say it was a wake-up call that was unexpected, but certainly a blessing in disguise. My book, You’re the Shift, gets into this whole things in more detail, but I can say I feel more alive these days, and certainly closer to the path I feel I’m meant to travel.

If you’re not following your heart, don’t treat it like the typical New Year’s “I’m going to start going to they gym” resolution. While well-intended, we can probably find some stats that show us just how well those resolutions really go (not to mention what the reality mirror shows when you step in front of a few months down the road).

Funny, to this day, I recall spending a Christmas up on Minnesota’s north shore. There, we played a variety of games and one of them had the players writing out “…what advice would you have given your father when he was younger.” Unequivocally, all 3 of my kids provided “just go for it” type of lines, and I’ve carried those scribblings in my wallet ever since. My point with this is that sometimes you just have to leap, and to do so in an effort to follow your heart? Even better.

Last, give what you can.

My father, bless him, gave more than he could. I watched that over the years and it scared me a bit – so much so, that I’ve struggled to give.

But here I am today, and I can finally put another item in the “Things Dad Taught Me” list: give what you can.

I won’t get into this for me as it’s a bit personal, but I’d have to say that it’s felt different to give what I can this year. I like it. I’m not worried about it. I’m happy to do it.

Time. Money. Attention. Resources. Advice. Humor. Sweat Equity.

Call it whatever you like, when you can give what you can, the receiver benefits well beyond what they may convey. The receiver may not feel they deserve or need what you can give, but do it anyway if you can.

As we seem to stumble into 2026 with the media full of itself, our politicians pot-shooting at each other, and an economy feeling like champagne about to be poured through a strainer, please remember the above. The discomfort that we all feel from these things can be unbearable at times, but know that we're all in it together.

And here's the shift I've learned through losing my father: discomfort isn't just okay—it's often the compass pointing us toward what matters most.

Think about it. Being with loved ones when schedules conflict? Uncomfortable. Following your heart when it means leaving security behind? Uncomfortable. Giving what you can when you're not sure you have enough? You guessed it—uncomfortable.

But that's where the magic happens. That's where memories are made, paths are discovered, and legacies are built.

My father taught me this in ways I'm only now beginning to understand. He gave more than he could, loved harder than was comfortable, and left behind a space that can never be filled—which means he lived fully enough to create that kind of void.

As you hear life's conductor tap the music stand to start 2026's symphony, remember: you don't need to know all the notes to join in. You just need to be willing to play. Whether it's Tchaikovsky, Mannheim Steamroller, or Arnold Schwarzenegger yelling "I'll be Bach!"—the music only happens when you show up.

So here's my dad-joke-free wish for you (okay, there was one): May 2026 be the year you dance at the edge of your comfort zone instead of retreating from it. May you find the courage to be present, to follow that mosquito buzz telling you there's something bigger, and to give what you can—even when, especially when, it's uncomfortable.

Because that's where you find you're alive. That's where blah turns into beautiful. That's where you discover—once and for all—that You're the Shift.

Here's to your best year yet. My father would've liked that.