If you’ve ever been forced to sit next to me on a plane, you know that if you’re game to chat, so am I. Over the years, I’ve made friendships at 30,000 feet that have long outlasted most frequent flyer programs.
Recently I found myself on a flight celebrating what brings every road warrior exquisite, unbridled joy — an empty middle seat.
Before the seat belt sign was off, my rowmate and I were chatting about our travel, work, and the holidays. Neither of us was looking for a debate or a deep dive into world affairs, but eventually our discussion landed on the topic we all pretend we’re not thinking about — the way politics has quietly, and sometimes loudly, redrawn the lines in our families and friendships.
My new friend shared how some of her most cherished relationships had fractured during the last year over politics. Cousins, coworkers and college roommates have drawn thick lines in the political beachhead.
Together we shared several anecdotes, careful not to betray trust or privacy. It was a tragic inventory of relationships diseased by disputes.
Some voted for the winner, others did not. Some voted out of conviction. Others voted while holding their proverbial noses. Many simply stayed home. As the beverage cart made its stop, we agreed that we both had friends and family in every imaginable category.
Yes, friends and family.
We weren’t discussing burned bridges between strangers debating outside polling places or on Reddit. These weren’t casual acquaintances or the kind of people you only see on social media once a year when the algorithm gets nostalgic.
The frayed, even severed relationships are between loved ones who gather each summer for reunions. Siblings who once traveled together, in-laws who laughed until they cried on game night, and lifelong friends who belong to book clubs, Bunco groups and fantasy football pools.
Instead of planning when to play pickleball, those bound by blood are scheming how to arrange holiday parties without inviting that brother, cousin or aunt who voted for the wrong man or woman.
We talked about friends who once worshiped side by side, prayed for one another and taught Sunday school together. They don’t just sit in different corners of the chapel anymore; they attend different churches.
These were lifelong bonds — relationships built brick by brick over decades of shared history. The people you call when your tire blows out or your heart breaks.
And now, over votes cast or opinions held, they barely speak.
In our deeply divided world, it’s difficult to imagine there’s anyone who can’t relate — either personally or through someone else in your orbit.
As she talked, I could see the hurt. Not anger — pain. The sort that sits deep in the chest and doesn’t quite go away.
We aren’t mourning the loss of a debate. We’re mourning the loss of each other.
And long after the flight landed and we said goodbye, that’s the thought that still taxis in my mind.
Weeks later, we’re all settling into the sweet season of nativity sets, trimmed trees, carols, Christmas movies and cookie plates for neighbors. It’s the time of year when we celebrate hope, peace and goodwill — even if those ideas sometimes feel a little fragile.
No matter what you believe or how you celebrate, the holidays have the power to tug us back toward the better, softer parts of ourselves. Toward generosity, peace and patience. Back toward the idea that maybe, just maybe, we could set something down that’s been too heavy to carry.
What if the greatest gift we give this year isn’t bought, wrapped or shipped? What if the gift this year is forgiveness?
Not the mushy, vague kind. No, the kind with a specific name attached.
Maybe you already know exactly who that is for you.
The good news is that reconciliation isn’t usually a grand gesture. It’s rarely cinematic. It doesn’t require a monologue delivered in the snow while your breath fogs dramatically.
It’s smaller than that. More humble. More human.
It could come scribbled in a card or in a text that simply reads, “Thinking of you. I miss you. Merry Christmas.”
It’s bags of treats, poinsettias or pepperoni pizzas delivered to a doorstep with extra cheese but zero agenda.
And sometimes, when possible, the best delivery isn’t symbolic. It’s you standing on the porch with shaky hands and a soft heart.
Because here’s the truth: we don’t have to resolve everything to begin healing something. We don’t have to agree on the past to choose a better future. The holidays can be a perfect time to break the stalemate, open a door or say words we assumed we’d never say.
“We’re better than this.”
“I want us back.”
When we extend even a breath of peace, something inside us loosens. Something tight begins to unclench. Something hopeful begins to breathe again.
We all know the divides can feel complicated, layered and sometimes unfair. Wounds aren’t typically healed in a day or over dinner. But relationships worth grieving are the relationships worth fighting for.
If someone once occupied entire chapters of your life — vacations, late-night talks, family gatherings, spiritual milestones — maybe this is the year to write a new page together.
Not because it’s easy. But because they matter.
We give a lot of gifts during the holidays. Some are beautiful. Some are practical. Some will be returned on Dec. 26 with no hard feelings.
But a reconciled relationship? A bridge rebuilt? A grudge released? That might be the kind of gift that changes the entire season — or someone’s entire year.
This holiday season, no matter what it looks like for you and me, let’s give the gift of second chances, of fresh starts, of open hearts.
Together, we can celebrate something more personal than just peace on earth.
Like peace between us.