I celebrated my first Christmas this year (I wrote this in December 2025 so let’s assume that’s when you’re reading this). For the past 22 years of my life, December has always offered chances to reflect. There’s less newness to it, rolling the yarn back into its basket, fires burning low — an unhurried pause to take stock of what has been made, what has unravelled, and what remains unfinished. This year was different. We build gingerbread houses in between stuffing our faces