Don't Lose Your Light

Finding gratitude in a difficult world

Here in Montreal, temperatures hover below freezing, and we had a serious sprinkling of the white stuff with Christmas and the Hanukkah lights. Given Montreal's reputation, we know this is just winter’s opening hand. What hits hardest is the darkness settling in before I've even thought about dinner—another of winter's winning cards.

The winter solstice arrived on December 21 at 4:21 a.m., which means each coming day will have a few more precious minutes of light. For me, this gradual brightening has always been something I look forward to, though I know when the sun rises these days, it's shining on some harsh realities, and a moment in history I would rather not see or hear about.

I want the year to end on a positive note, but the world feels at an inflection point beyond my wildest imagination—with wars raging, the far right on the rise in places I thought impervious to its reach, basic human needs going unmet for so many, and the tsunami fallout we feel here in Canada from the recent US election.

I'm grateful to live in Montreal's safety and beauty, chasing joy in life's small moments and caring deeply for what matters most: health, family, kindness, friends, laughter, and shared stories. Yet I remain conscious of so many are struggling, angry, weary and refuse to look away. We simply can't shut out the world—draw the curtains, cancel newspaper subscriptions (note to self), move to Canada or a remote island—as many want to right now.

What gives me hope is seeing how people, despite their differences, continue performing small acts of kindness. These everyday gestures build essential bridges between us. Moving forward requires the courage to cross these bridges and truly connect with one another, even amid uncertainty and fear.

I hope bridges will be at the centre of some of our stories in the coming year. Like many of you, at this stage of life, I feel slightly wiser than I’ve ever been, and my heart feels it has more time to give than ever before. There has to be something in our collective considerable ages that will help us figure some of it out.

Thank you for every ❤️ like and thoughtful comment. You validated our stories, showing us that our words found their mark. Thank you for your support and for coming along with me every week from all across Canada, 46 US states and 53 countries—counting the one reader in Russia—creating connections I never imagined possible.

This year, more than thirty writers have shared their unique voices, and without fail, every Sunday morning, there was a story in your inbox. It's a labour of love, and I'm so appreciative you are here and that in this crazy world, we can connect across boundaries, real and perceived.

A particular shout out to the talented Stella Kalaw, who has created the digital art collages that illustrated each story. Stella's had a challenging year, yet she never let me down. She read every story and found a way to convey it visually. I can't thank her enough.

As we enter this new year, A Considerable Age will continue to be a space where I hope every Sunday morning feels like you are settling in with a close friend who has something special to share. Because that's the magic of stories—they bridge distances, heal divides, fill in gaps, and remind us of our common ground.

I'd love to hear what's bringing light into your world these days, what stories you're holding close, wanting to share. Because in times like these, sharing our light becomes more important than ever.

Here’s a link to the stories published in 2024.

Click here to share your story on A Considerable Age.