It’s that lead up period to the holidays and the end of the year. In the US, Christmas is entrenched as a cultural holiday, regardless of one's relationship to religion. Most families have traditions they partake in every year. We cut down our Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving, have a friends holiday party, enjoy a fondue night at my parents' house, and then have the typical get togethers on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

It’s kind of wild how much of December is dedicated to Christmas—it's one twelfth of our year. You see Christmas movies on all the streaming services, the radio plays holiday songs, and families everywhere are embracing their Christmas traditions. It dominates everything, especially when there are children in your life. It's almost as if the Christmas cheer keeps everyone warm and hopeful through the darkest month of the year, when there's little sun or warmth. And this is coming from a Californian; I can't imagine what the winters are like in the northern states, year after year.

Christmas tree farm above Black Road earlier this month

And this is my last Christmas without children. My wife and I have been relishing our alone time together. We had a lazy morning this past weekend, and I told her it was one of the last times we'd be able to do that for a long time. It's a weird feeling, anticipating your tribe growing. My wife is the most important person in my life, and yet I know we’ll soon be adding someone just as important. It's also reinforced that notion you hear: “your partner is the only one who truly loves you. Your parents love you because you're their child, you love your family because you were born with them, but you love your partner for who they are and you choose them.” And now we've chosen to start a family. This pregnancy has been a time of transition. It's weird. I know there's significant change to come.

I've journaled about big change before. When a big change comes, there's only so much you can do to prepare for it. Mostly, you simply have to react to the unknown when it happens—your anticipation is limited because, well, it's unknown. I thought about this often growing up when it came to big graduations. When I knew college was looming, I tried to enjoy the end of high school. I was familiar with my friends and teachers and environment, and although I had chosen my college, had visited it, I knew it would be completely different than all I knew up to that point. I had no friends at my new school. It was in a different city. I would be studying completely new subjects, living away from home for the first time. I was eager to play football, but I knew the standards were elevating, in sports and my studies. It was a new level.

Similarly, when I was leaving college, I figured my time in school was over; I didn't have plans to attend graduate school. So it was out into the 'real world' for the first time. I didn't know what industry I would work in or what kind of job I would have (courtesy of a liberal arts education and choosing to major in Sociology, which does have its perks, but this one large drawback). I knew I was walking through another door, and that it would be another world on the other side. I also knew I could never go back.

I felt similar anticipation when I moved abroad, first to South Africa, then to China. Both times, I knew my environment would be completely different. I went to South Africa with a friend, and I had visited there the year before, but I also knew living in Africa would be completely different than visiting for 5 days. We lived in a hostel for the first month, then moved into a house with a bunch of roommates after we finished our teaching program. After getting accustomed to Cape Town, I decided to move to China. This was a big leap—I had never been to Asia before and knew no one on the entire continent. I didn’t speak a lick of Chinese. I definitely looked over a precipice on my flights to Beijing.

Our coming child feels somewhat similar. We are both excited, don't get me wrong, but I also recognize this might be the most significant change I'll ever encounter in my life. Once our family grows, it will no longer be about just us. I will forever think about my child. When I wake up each morning and go to sleep each night, my child will likely be the first and last things I'll think about. I will forever be concerned with their well being for the rest of my life. This isn't a bad or scary thing per se, but it is a significant change. Perhaps I'm showing my naiveté here—I wouldn't know. The point is it's a new adventure awaiting us.

I think that's an important lens to use in life. Even something as 'standard' as starting/raising a family, which billions of others do, can be considered an adventure. Life can seem mundane if you let it. That’s how our brain works. It's up to us to “step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure” (as Dumbledore puts it).

Well, I cannot wait for the one before me. My life will change forever. I approach the unknown. And I'm eagerly stepping forward, in the long cold nights of December, to embrace the adventure.