My paper snowflakes— which I hope look cute, and not like someone let a craft-oriented kindergartener loose in a paper store with a pair of scissors

This time of year always leaves me torn between two choices: On the one hand, I miss my holiday decor the moment I’ve taken it down. I love a good pine garland, or a strand of paper snowflakes over my fireplace mantel, or even just the knickknacks that cover my bookshelves— mementos from travel, gifts from friends, strands of light that brighten up my space. On the other hand, I love a quiet, clean workspace. A clean desk, a neat mantel, a clear slate to reinvigorate my creative process.

This year comes with a great deal of uncertainty. My day job is in policy work in Washington, D.C. I’m a human rights activist. A feminist. A woman. A bi woman, at that. I’m anticipating that this year may well be a very difficult one. So I’m determined to take and accept as much joy as I can possibly squeeze out of the next twelve months.

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So this year, I’m committing to paper snowflakes and pink garlands for Valentine’s Day. Bouquets of flowers in vases on the table for springtime. A pride flag, vibrant and loud, ostensibly for June but generally for every day. Putting up Halloween decorations and Christmas lights and creating a cacophony of comfort, come what may. My plan is to curate a space for delight within my home, for the express purpose of sharing it with the people I love and channeling that energy for creativity.

Perhaps my plan seems trite. Blue bracelet-y. Too small, too materialistic for the times ahead. And I’ll admit, it’s not nearly enough. Of course it isn’t. And I’ll do what I can: mutual aid networks. Educating myself and others on human rights policy and reproductive rights. Continuing my work in my day job, working as a communicator in the world of policy and government, trying to create change and a path towards peace.

And.

I’m a big believer in the idea that intentional joy is in itself a form of protest.

So that’s what I’m doing, amidst the hard work and the despair and the frustration of it all. Decorating my space. Using it as a gathering space for my friends and family, for the communities I’ve chosen and those who have chosen me. Reading books that provide an escape in addition to those that teach me about the world and perspectives other than my own. Curating happiness, in a world that would like to snuff it out.

I don’t know for sure what 2025 will bring, but I know this: I’m determined to not just survive this next year, but to live through it with as much joy as I can muster.

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