I read this: “The person at the door isn’t asking me to shrink. They’re helping me make space for the things I want" and thought of how fortunate you are to take a stand for yourself, and for being in a relationship that brings out all of you.
And then, you wrote: "Someone’s at the door, and I let them in.” My first thought was, "Someone's at the door and you let them out" - that someone being you. Your soul. Your brightness. You as the star on the top of the tree. Your light, that when it shines brightly with your full self, enables everyone else to see a little better.
I suspect you were referring to someone else at the door...as a reader, I saw you too.
I love that you saw the part of me that had been waiting by the door too. I think you are right. There is a way we step out of ourselves and then slowly find the path back. Sometimes the person on the other side is someone else, and sometimes it is the version of us we finally stopped abandoning. Thank you for seeing me too. 🩵
"I was learning to make my wanting smaller to fit."
My first mantra of the year was "follow your intuition." That led me to "take up space." I too was taught to shrink. Alex, the image of that tree is an image of you and me and all of us when we take up the space we're here to fill. Beautiful! 🙏
Your comment made me think of a moment years ago when someone asked me what I would choose if I stopped trying to be agreeable. I had no real answer then. Reading your words reminded me of the slow way that answer formed over time. Wanting is a practice. Space is a practice too. Thank you for reflecting that back.
How many things in life do we just accommodate for, because the space is too small. Oh Alex, you nailed it. You described my whole first marriage (and perhaps all “failed” marriages) in one too small house for a too small Christmas tree!
And, I’m getting eager for you to write more about the person at the door, and how he invites you in gently and tenderly until you eventually accept his invitation and invite you in.
The gradual way you are writing these pieces, unfolding the depth of the story bit by bit, is masterful storytelling.
That habit of shrinking to fit a space that never had the room we hoped for can shape us in ways we do not notice until much later. Hearing you name your first marriage with that kind of clarity brought a small ache of recognition. I am glad the piece spoke to you the way it did, and I love that you are curious about the figure at the door. That part keeps revealing itself slowly, almost like it wants to be met at the pace I can hold. 🩵
what's really interesting is that my first marriage, we got the house HE wanted...and I thought it was too big. It had huge ceilings, one of which I felt like was wasted space and heat. We had 4 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms and I hated cleaning it. It was too much. I wanted cute, quaint, character and charm. It was townhouse boring.
the opposite of your experience. but the same message. that house in its too big boringness smothered me of my imagination.
the Mirth House I'm in now is cute, quaint, and has character and charm. and it is half the size.
“Beyond beautiful” made me laugh a little because I still do that thing where I look at something I created and think, wait, really? You saw that? Thank you for naming what you felt. That reassurance you mentioned has been echoing through my days lately, and it means a lot that you felt it too.
What a beautiful tree that fits perfectly in that spot! Something huge is opening up in you and the tree and the laughing, engaging man welcoming the visitor in reflect this space opening up. I'm happy and excited for you!
Nancy, this was such a kind message to read. I felt a real tenderness in how you named the tree, the space, and the sense of something opening. It has been feeling that way on my end too, almost like the room around me is stretching.
Love this! Love the beautiful tree! Most of all love that you feel open to light, to joy, a delightful season of Christmas! I’ve always had and still have similar feelings about Christmas and all its’ signs portraying merriment, kindness, love and a giving spirit. Most around me think of it as materialistic, but me, I feel the joy, the hope, the reasons that allow me to give and see firsthand the joy of others. I’m so glad to find another who loves Christmas and understands its’ symbolism with such openess. 🎄🎅🏼🤶🏻🌲
Kathy, this felt so sweet to read. I love that you see the joy in the season the way I do. There is something about the lights and the small gestures that opens me up in a way I had forgotten for a while.
For me, you are also my light. You always make me think, wonder and see life from a different perspective. All the emotions I experience reading your experiences is like a glittery sparkly rainbow bouncing inside my brain. I’m amazed how you Alex always manage to reach me this way. It’s always a giving message whether brought about by sadness or happiness it is always
as bright as the Rockefeller Plaza Christmas tree or the eight footer in your living room it’s still the same hope and joy of this holiday season and the ease it creates in my heart. . Thank you and happy Thanksgiving!
Alex, I wish I could see that gorgeous tree in real life. I think most of us have stories about Christmas trees. I was just talking with someone else yesterday who told me a story from her childhood about getting their annual Christmas tree. There's something both literal and symbolic about them, and about what you wrote--here, about contraction and expansion (moving beyond the containers when you felt small)--and that's where the resonance really took shape for me. You see, Ben and I started a tradition where the youngest child would get the honor of putting the star atop the tree once we'd finished decorating it as a family. I have countless photos of Felicity doing this, then Sarah, then Veronica, Joey, and Auggie. Now they get to take turns. But the act of completion feels good for all of us--like we've just accomplished something as a team. And that star reminds us to shine brightly, even on the darkest and most dismal days.
Jeannie, this was such a lovely note to read. I felt the tenderness in how you told the story of your kids taking turns with the star. It made me smile. There is something about those small rituals that shape us without us even noticing. What part of that tradition feels most alive for you now that they are older?
Alex, I think because my youngest is still 5 years old, we have that lingering childhood wonder and innocence in our home and family. It’s not entirely lost yet. What’s tough is navigating the traditions that are meaningful for ALL of us, since I have three littles who still enjoy things like putting the star on top of the tree and two older girls who kind of find that sort of thing boring. Ha!
Wow. This essay is deeply moving. Written with such an open heart. There's a lot to unpack. First of all, I so relate to the survival/gratitude thing. Cancer survivors are supposed to be resilient and eternally grateful. (Which we are, but...) Then, there are all those life lessons to learn from suffering. Ugh... Sometimes, we just want to be, to want, to have - no strings or obligations attached.
I love how you described that fullness you felt in your chest after placing the star. Joy. That's what it was. It's wonderful you have let someone through that door. Someone you don't need to make yourself smaller for. No one deserves less. I'm happy for you.
Thank you for this heartwarming read and for the reminder to stop making ourselves smaller to fit someone else's expectations. We all need and deserve physical, emotional, and relational space to just be who we were meant to be. So freeing, isn't it?
Enjoy the space. Enjoy the tree. Enjoy your person. Enjoy all of it!
I keep thinking about what you said regarding the survival narrative. How quickly it can flatten a whole life. Gratitude is meaningful, of course, but sometimes it becomes a script others hand us without realizing it. Your comment touched the part of me that has worked hard to unlearn that script. The star moment was small, but it felt like a kind of relief. Like I could breathe without performing worthiness. I am grateful you brought your own story into this space. It helped me hear my own words with a different kind of depth. 🩵
Alexander, I always love to think about the line that resonates the most with me. There was so much here. Our lives are so different and yet there is this connection - embracing wisdom does this. True wisdom fits all lives. Isn’t this beautiful?
"For years, I practiced presence in containers that were too small. I learned to be grateful for what I had. I made peace with limitations." I have done the small. I have done the sacred sacrifice. I have learned so much. There is value in shrinking one's life. You recognize what matters most - your true needs. You recognize your true power. But beware, as I am learning. Going small and smaller, surviving (and also thriving) in this confined space, confined you - it conditions us. We forget that we can also go big, bigger again. We can take up more space. When we get so comfortable (comfort not always meaning better for forever) in not having, not allowing - we feel uncomfortable giving (allowing) ourselves more. And a whole human knows how to inhabit both experiences of life and feel joyful, peaceful, grateful just because. This is what I am once again reminded of while reading this. I have loved so long without a house. And now, I am thinking that this experience has given me all that I need for now. It is time to have a closet and plants and a kitchen where I can make bread. And I need to give myself permission to have this. Not because I need it to feel happy, but just because. It is so wonderful to know that I can sur-thrive in conditions in which most people would see as scarcity - could not. In the solitude too. It is a freedom. But true freedom is staying open. We do not belong in boxes. Can we remember this no matter where we are in life right now. Keep growing. Keep growing gratitude. This is a gift we can only give ourselves. Thank you for sharing this thought with me. xo
Danni, your comment felt like someone opening a window in the room. The way you described the value of living small, and then the way that same smallness can start to shape the edges of who we believe we are, touched something tender in me. I know that drift well. What struck me most was the clarity with which you named both sides. The learning. And the conditioning. And the bravery of choosing more without needing it to prove anything. Your words reminded me that expansion often begins with permission. Quiet permission. The kind we give ourselves before anyone else does. Thank you for such a beautiful reflection and comment. 🩵
Alexander, thank you for reaching back out. I know that it is not always easy. Time is not something that I take for granted. Yes, I agree with you. We tend to look outside of ourselves for approval - for every type of step we take. Is someone going to judge me for living small (to many eyes, poor)? Is someone going to judge me for living big (to many eyes, privilege)? The answer to both is yes. Someone will always judge us. This is why I focus most of all on self-love. I no longer have to go outside myself for the answer to the question, am I worthy of this? Or is it okay? We need to give ourselves permission, knowing that as long as we do our best to be honest (so difficult, right?) and loving, we are doing the right thing. And honestly, there is no right or wrong. It is about keeping ourselves open to receive the gifts every situation and experience offers... and staying out of those boxes. May they be places we explore but never inhabit for too long. Thanks again. I really appreciate this. xo ❤️ ps can I dm you?
Ilona, thank you for this. It feels good to be witnessed in that way. I get what you mean about playing small. I did not realize how automatic it had become for me until something finally shifted.
This makes me tearful. How beautiful, how right, how expansive. A new container, big enough for not just one, but two... and a nine foot tree with a star.
“A new container, big enough for not just one, but two.” I keep rereading that line. You put words to something I have been feeling but had not quite named. 🩵
Thank you for your insightful posting Alex; you have inspired me to write one of my own and I haven’t written for perhaps a week which is unusual for me.
I smiled at “I haven’t written for perhaps a week which is unusual for me.” I know that rhythm. Sometimes a pause has its own kind of composting. Glad the piece helped you step back in. 🩵
I will send you a direct message about my client availability. Thank you for asking!
Beautiful Alex... And the tree? Absolutely Magical.
Allowing ourselves to step into this kind of Desire and Fulfillment is such Joy.
"This is a different kind of gratitude. The kind that doesn’t need to earn itself through suffering. The kind that doesn’t require me to justify wanting by proving it taught me something.
I can just want. And have. And be grateful for the having itself."
I love that you called the tree magical. I keep catching myself standing there looking at it like it is telling me something simple and good. Your words about stepping into joy without needing to earn it felt like someone gently mirroring back the shift I am learning to trust. Thank you for holding that so kindly.
Seriously epic tree. That picture could easily be in a Home and Garden magazine, dear Lord. I love how you extracted so much story and meaning and teaching from
A Christmas tree. What?!
My two daughters and I drive up to the high country each year to harvest a tree from the forest. Last year we forgot our little chihuahua and had to drive back a half hour to find him running frantically down the mountain road.
I especially appreciate this article because it causes me the reader to look for story and meaning in places I normally wouldn’t.
Alex, This is beautiful.
I read this: “The person at the door isn’t asking me to shrink. They’re helping me make space for the things I want" and thought of how fortunate you are to take a stand for yourself, and for being in a relationship that brings out all of you.
And then, you wrote: "Someone’s at the door, and I let them in.” My first thought was, "Someone's at the door and you let them out" - that someone being you. Your soul. Your brightness. You as the star on the top of the tree. Your light, that when it shines brightly with your full self, enables everyone else to see a little better.
I suspect you were referring to someone else at the door...as a reader, I saw you too.
I love that you saw the part of me that had been waiting by the door too. I think you are right. There is a way we step out of ourselves and then slowly find the path back. Sometimes the person on the other side is someone else, and sometimes it is the version of us we finally stopped abandoning. Thank you for seeing me too. 🩵
"I was learning to make my wanting smaller to fit."
My first mantra of the year was "follow your intuition." That led me to "take up space." I too was taught to shrink. Alex, the image of that tree is an image of you and me and all of us when we take up the space we're here to fill. Beautiful! 🙏
Your comment made me think of a moment years ago when someone asked me what I would choose if I stopped trying to be agreeable. I had no real answer then. Reading your words reminded me of the slow way that answer formed over time. Wanting is a practice. Space is a practice too. Thank you for reflecting that back.
I get to be the first comment!!!
How many things in life do we just accommodate for, because the space is too small. Oh Alex, you nailed it. You described my whole first marriage (and perhaps all “failed” marriages) in one too small house for a too small Christmas tree!
And, I’m getting eager for you to write more about the person at the door, and how he invites you in gently and tenderly until you eventually accept his invitation and invite you in.
The gradual way you are writing these pieces, unfolding the depth of the story bit by bit, is masterful storytelling.
YAY! I LOVE that you are my first comment 🩵
That habit of shrinking to fit a space that never had the room we hoped for can shape us in ways we do not notice until much later. Hearing you name your first marriage with that kind of clarity brought a small ache of recognition. I am glad the piece spoke to you the way it did, and I love that you are curious about the figure at the door. That part keeps revealing itself slowly, almost like it wants to be met at the pace I can hold. 🩵
what's really interesting is that my first marriage, we got the house HE wanted...and I thought it was too big. It had huge ceilings, one of which I felt like was wasted space and heat. We had 4 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms and I hated cleaning it. It was too much. I wanted cute, quaint, character and charm. It was townhouse boring.
the opposite of your experience. but the same message. that house in its too big boringness smothered me of my imagination.
the Mirth House I'm in now is cute, quaint, and has character and charm. and it is half the size.
Beyond beautiful.. it’s exquisite ❣️
And so very perfect for this season that you are getting the reassurance that you never need to be small again.
I love this Alexander. Truly.
And the last pic of you laughing is fabulous.
“Beyond beautiful” made me laugh a little because I still do that thing where I look at something I created and think, wait, really? You saw that? Thank you for naming what you felt. That reassurance you mentioned has been echoing through my days lately, and it means a lot that you felt it too.
I tell the truth Alexander!
What a beautiful tree that fits perfectly in that spot! Something huge is opening up in you and the tree and the laughing, engaging man welcoming the visitor in reflect this space opening up. I'm happy and excited for you!
Nancy, this was such a kind message to read. I felt a real tenderness in how you named the tree, the space, and the sense of something opening. It has been feeling that way on my end too, almost like the room around me is stretching.
Love this! Love the beautiful tree! Most of all love that you feel open to light, to joy, a delightful season of Christmas! I’ve always had and still have similar feelings about Christmas and all its’ signs portraying merriment, kindness, love and a giving spirit. Most around me think of it as materialistic, but me, I feel the joy, the hope, the reasons that allow me to give and see firsthand the joy of others. I’m so glad to find another who loves Christmas and understands its’ symbolism with such openess. 🎄🎅🏼🤶🏻🌲
Kathy, this felt so sweet to read. I love that you see the joy in the season the way I do. There is something about the lights and the small gestures that opens me up in a way I had forgotten for a while.
For me, you are also my light. You always make me think, wonder and see life from a different perspective. All the emotions I experience reading your experiences is like a glittery sparkly rainbow bouncing inside my brain. I’m amazed how you Alex always manage to reach me this way. It’s always a giving message whether brought about by sadness or happiness it is always
as bright as the Rockefeller Plaza Christmas tree or the eight footer in your living room it’s still the same hope and joy of this holiday season and the ease it creates in my heart. . Thank you and happy Thanksgiving!
Alex, I wish I could see that gorgeous tree in real life. I think most of us have stories about Christmas trees. I was just talking with someone else yesterday who told me a story from her childhood about getting their annual Christmas tree. There's something both literal and symbolic about them, and about what you wrote--here, about contraction and expansion (moving beyond the containers when you felt small)--and that's where the resonance really took shape for me. You see, Ben and I started a tradition where the youngest child would get the honor of putting the star atop the tree once we'd finished decorating it as a family. I have countless photos of Felicity doing this, then Sarah, then Veronica, Joey, and Auggie. Now they get to take turns. But the act of completion feels good for all of us--like we've just accomplished something as a team. And that star reminds us to shine brightly, even on the darkest and most dismal days.
Jeannie, this was such a lovely note to read. I felt the tenderness in how you told the story of your kids taking turns with the star. It made me smile. There is something about those small rituals that shape us without us even noticing. What part of that tradition feels most alive for you now that they are older?
Alex, I think because my youngest is still 5 years old, we have that lingering childhood wonder and innocence in our home and family. It’s not entirely lost yet. What’s tough is navigating the traditions that are meaningful for ALL of us, since I have three littles who still enjoy things like putting the star on top of the tree and two older girls who kind of find that sort of thing boring. Ha!
I love everything about this post, but the picture in your About section at the bottom is EVERYTHING!!
Bwhaha, you are so kind to me. I'm glad you enjoyed this post :) And I'm so glad that the bottom photo is EVERYTHING 😂
Hi Alex,
Wow. This essay is deeply moving. Written with such an open heart. There's a lot to unpack. First of all, I so relate to the survival/gratitude thing. Cancer survivors are supposed to be resilient and eternally grateful. (Which we are, but...) Then, there are all those life lessons to learn from suffering. Ugh... Sometimes, we just want to be, to want, to have - no strings or obligations attached.
I love how you described that fullness you felt in your chest after placing the star. Joy. That's what it was. It's wonderful you have let someone through that door. Someone you don't need to make yourself smaller for. No one deserves less. I'm happy for you.
Thank you for this heartwarming read and for the reminder to stop making ourselves smaller to fit someone else's expectations. We all need and deserve physical, emotional, and relational space to just be who we were meant to be. So freeing, isn't it?
Enjoy the space. Enjoy the tree. Enjoy your person. Enjoy all of it!
I keep thinking about what you said regarding the survival narrative. How quickly it can flatten a whole life. Gratitude is meaningful, of course, but sometimes it becomes a script others hand us without realizing it. Your comment touched the part of me that has worked hard to unlearn that script. The star moment was small, but it felt like a kind of relief. Like I could breathe without performing worthiness. I am grateful you brought your own story into this space. It helped me hear my own words with a different kind of depth. 🩵
Alexander, I always love to think about the line that resonates the most with me. There was so much here. Our lives are so different and yet there is this connection - embracing wisdom does this. True wisdom fits all lives. Isn’t this beautiful?
"For years, I practiced presence in containers that were too small. I learned to be grateful for what I had. I made peace with limitations." I have done the small. I have done the sacred sacrifice. I have learned so much. There is value in shrinking one's life. You recognize what matters most - your true needs. You recognize your true power. But beware, as I am learning. Going small and smaller, surviving (and also thriving) in this confined space, confined you - it conditions us. We forget that we can also go big, bigger again. We can take up more space. When we get so comfortable (comfort not always meaning better for forever) in not having, not allowing - we feel uncomfortable giving (allowing) ourselves more. And a whole human knows how to inhabit both experiences of life and feel joyful, peaceful, grateful just because. This is what I am once again reminded of while reading this. I have loved so long without a house. And now, I am thinking that this experience has given me all that I need for now. It is time to have a closet and plants and a kitchen where I can make bread. And I need to give myself permission to have this. Not because I need it to feel happy, but just because. It is so wonderful to know that I can sur-thrive in conditions in which most people would see as scarcity - could not. In the solitude too. It is a freedom. But true freedom is staying open. We do not belong in boxes. Can we remember this no matter where we are in life right now. Keep growing. Keep growing gratitude. This is a gift we can only give ourselves. Thank you for sharing this thought with me. xo
Danni, your comment felt like someone opening a window in the room. The way you described the value of living small, and then the way that same smallness can start to shape the edges of who we believe we are, touched something tender in me. I know that drift well. What struck me most was the clarity with which you named both sides. The learning. And the conditioning. And the bravery of choosing more without needing it to prove anything. Your words reminded me that expansion often begins with permission. Quiet permission. The kind we give ourselves before anyone else does. Thank you for such a beautiful reflection and comment. 🩵
Alexander, thank you for reaching back out. I know that it is not always easy. Time is not something that I take for granted. Yes, I agree with you. We tend to look outside of ourselves for approval - for every type of step we take. Is someone going to judge me for living small (to many eyes, poor)? Is someone going to judge me for living big (to many eyes, privilege)? The answer to both is yes. Someone will always judge us. This is why I focus most of all on self-love. I no longer have to go outside myself for the answer to the question, am I worthy of this? Or is it okay? We need to give ourselves permission, knowing that as long as we do our best to be honest (so difficult, right?) and loving, we are doing the right thing. And honestly, there is no right or wrong. It is about keeping ourselves open to receive the gifts every situation and experience offers... and staying out of those boxes. May they be places we explore but never inhabit for too long. Thanks again. I really appreciate this. xo ❤️ ps can I dm you?
Yay! I'm so happy for you, Dr. A. I was also used to playing small, and it is so liberating when you can just be yourself.
Ilona, thank you for this. It feels good to be witnessed in that way. I get what you mean about playing small. I did not realize how automatic it had become for me until something finally shifted.
This makes me tearful. How beautiful, how right, how expansive. A new container, big enough for not just one, but two... and a nine foot tree with a star.
“A new container, big enough for not just one, but two.” I keep rereading that line. You put words to something I have been feeling but had not quite named. 🩵
Thank you for your insightful posting Alex; you have inspired me to write one of my own and I haven’t written for perhaps a week which is unusual for me.
Are you taking on new clients by any chance?
I also love your gorgeous tree!
I smiled at “I haven’t written for perhaps a week which is unusual for me.” I know that rhythm. Sometimes a pause has its own kind of composting. Glad the piece helped you step back in. 🩵
I will send you a direct message about my client availability. Thank you for asking!
Beautiful Alex... And the tree? Absolutely Magical.
Allowing ourselves to step into this kind of Desire and Fulfillment is such Joy.
"This is a different kind of gratitude. The kind that doesn’t need to earn itself through suffering. The kind that doesn’t require me to justify wanting by proving it taught me something.
I can just want. And have. And be grateful for the having itself."
I love that you called the tree magical. I keep catching myself standing there looking at it like it is telling me something simple and good. Your words about stepping into joy without needing to earn it felt like someone gently mirroring back the shift I am learning to trust. Thank you for holding that so kindly.
Seriously epic tree. That picture could easily be in a Home and Garden magazine, dear Lord. I love how you extracted so much story and meaning and teaching from
A Christmas tree. What?!
My two daughters and I drive up to the high country each year to harvest a tree from the forest. Last year we forgot our little chihuahua and had to drive back a half hour to find him running frantically down the mountain road.
I especially appreciate this article because it causes me the reader to look for story and meaning in places I normally wouldn’t.
Oh, I just love this! And, made me smile. Thank you.