Every year, someone tries to convince me that the holiday season is “the most wonderful time of the year.” And every year, I wonder if that person has ever actually lived through December as a college student whose life is held together by Canvas, caffeine, and pizza rolls.
Let’s start with the travel. I love going back to Georgia, but traveling during the holidays should count as its own endurance sport. The flight prices alone make me question all my life choices. My teammate just paid $900 for a round-trip ticket, which feels borderline criminal.
And the holiday packing is its own special disaster. I tell myself I’ll only bring the basics, but suddenly I’m trying to squeeze gifts, sweaters I haven’t worn all year, and enough “just in case” outfits for every possible Christmas scenario into one suitcase. By the time I’m sitting on it to get it zipped, I’m already sweating. And as soon as I get through airport security, I remember the one thing I forgot.
There’s something about Christmas that truly humbles the human brain.
Holiday shopping is where my holiday spirit goes to die. I don’t know what happens to people in stores during December, but everyone seems to move as if they’re stuck in slow motion, except for me, who speed-walks through Target like it’s an emergency. The aisles are packed, the shelves are bare, and there’s always a cart traffic jam in the one section I actually need. I walk in for one gift and walk out with 400 things I didn’t plan on buying, none of which were on my list.
Holiday gatherings are great for catching up with family, but the moment the questions start to roll in, like “How’s school going?” “What are you doing after graduation?” and “How’s your sleep?” My internal countdown to the return flight immediately begins. It feels like a pop quiz I never studied for, except the topic is my entire life. I barely know my five-minute plan most days, so expecting me to map out my future over a plate of mashed potatoes feels a little ambitious.
Social media only adds to the problems. Everywhere you look, someone is posting a perfectly decorated tree, a flawless gingerbread house, or a cozy morning routine that looks like a Hallmark movie. Meanwhile, I am at home wrapping gifts with duct tape I found in a random drawer and using $1.99 wrapping paper that looks like it cost exactly $1.99 and feels like it too.
But somehow, the most stressful part of the holidays is the pressure to relax. I wait the whole semester for a break, and the second I get one, my brain starts whispering, “Shouldn’t you be doing something productive?” But really, all I need is to be horizontal, watching cheesy Christmas movies, and eating snacks.
Yet even with the chaos of traveling, the last-minute shopping, and the never-ending life questions, there’s something undeniably comforting about going home. The familiar food, the familiar faces, the familiar chaos, it all weirdly works. The stress is real, but so is the warmth that comes with it.
The holidays are messy, loud, and overwhelmingly chaotic. But maybe that’s part of the charm. Christmas comes wrapped in anything but perfection, taped with wrapping paper that barely holds together, and tucked into gift bags you swear you’ll reuse next year.