The Things We Bring With Us

We started making chocolates this week.

Lots of them.

The kind of homemade Christmas candy my family made throughout my childhood, with trays covering the table, chocolate everywhere and far more pieces than any reasonable number of people could possibly need.

It felt wonderfully familiar when not much else has lately.

The past two months have introduced a whole new world, from nurses who care enough to bring in homemade food (they will be getting candy deliveries) to an entirely new vocabulary around sepsis.

I've learned more about some things than I would ever want anyone to have to learn. And I would do it all again, because my sister is home.

There are still plenty of new things to learn, but mixed in with all the new are these wonderfully ordinary pieces of us.

Jerry came out for Thanksgiving. There was my grandmother's stuffing and her orange rolls, family meals in Airbnbs and leftovers at hospitals. There was a smoothie place we discovered down the street from rehab that became something to look forward to.

And now there are chocolates.

I've been thinking about why those familiar things have mattered so much to me. I don't think it's because I'm trying to pretend nothing has changed. Lots of things are changing.

Maybe it's because when life changes dramatically, we can become so focused on everything that's different that we forget we don't have to leave everything else behind.

There are things we get to bring with us: traditions, recipes, people, humor and all those little rituals that make everywhere feel like home. Things that don't always seem particularly important until suddenly they are.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about creating a life you love, and usually that conversation is about moving forward. What do you want? What needs to change? What's the next step? How do you close the gap between where you are and where you want to be?

But maybe moving forward isn't only about where we're going. Maybe it's also about deciding what deserves to come with us.

That feels especially important when life changes in a way we didn't choose, because change has a funny way of making everything feel up for grabs.

But not everything is.

We can bring the recipe and the laughter. We can bring the people who matter and the parts of ourselves we don't want circumstances to decide for us.

And perhaps that's one reason knowing what really matters to us is so important.

When you know what matters, you don't have to recreate the old life exactly to recognize yourself in the new one. Grandma's stuffing still tastes like Grandma's stuffing and chocolate-covered everything still makes our kitchen look wonderfully ridiculous.

The people around the table may change and the table itself may change, but something travels with us.

The more I understand my core values, the easier it is to recognize what I want to carry with me. And in case you haven't guessed, family is one of mine.

Maybe that's what traditions do at their best: remind us of who we are at our core. They aren't instructions for keeping life the same. They're little ways of carrying pieces of what matters forward.

So this year, we're making the chocolates (and caramels and cookies too). Not because everything is back to normal or because we're trying to make it normal.

We're making them because they're ours.

And they're coming with us.

If You’re Curious…

• When your life changes, what are the things you know you want to bring with you?

• Which traditions, people or parts of yourself connect you to what matters most?

• As you think about where you're going next, are you as intentional about what you're carrying forward as you are about what you're leaving behind?