The holidays can be loud.

Not always in the obvious ways. Sometimes it’s the noise of schedules and obligations and travel plans and inboxes that refuse to quiet down just because the calendar says “holiday.” Sometimes it’s the internal noise. The pressure to show up cheerful. The comparison spiral. The sense that you should be more grateful, more social, more productive, more present… all at once.

For years, I carried all of that straight through December. Laptop open. Phone buzzing. One eye on email, the other on the tree. I told myself I was staying “connected,” but what I was really doing was staying distracted.

Unplugging doesn’t have to be dramatic. It doesn’t mean disappearing into the woods or tossing your phone into a drawer and pretending the world doesn’t exist. Sometimes it’s as small as choosing not to check work email for a few days. Or leaving your phone in the other room while you drink your coffee. Or giving yourself permission to be bored without immediately fixing it with a scroll.

When I unplug, even just a little, something shifts.

I notice things again. The way the light changes in the afternoon. The weight of a memory that shows up unannounced. The quiet relief of not needing to respond to anything right this second. Space opens up, and in that space, I hear my own thoughts more clearly.

For me, that matters. Especially this time of year.

The holidays have a way of stirring everything. Joy sits right next to grief. Nostalgia bumps into who you are now. When I’m constantly plugged in, I miss the subtler moments that actually help me process all of that. When I unplug, I give myself room to feel what’s there instead of managing it away.

If you can unplug this season, even briefly, I hope you do. Not because it’s trendy or virtuous, but because you deserve a few moments that belong only to you. Moments that aren’t optimized or shared or measured. Moments that don’t need a caption.

And if you can’t fully unplug, that’s okay too. This isn’t about rules. It’s about noticing where your attention is going, and whether it’s giving anything back.

I write about these small, honest shifts all the time. About writing, memory, reinvention, and learning how to live a little more intentionally in the middle of a very noisy world. If that kind of reflection resonates, you’re always welcome to join me in my newsletter. It’s where I slow things down and tell the longer version of the story.

However you move through this season, I hope you find at least one quiet pocket that feels like yours.