The Rest of Your Life Is Happening Between Holidays

Your Christmas has traditions. Does your Wednesday?

A friend recently commented on my Sunday dinner post with a word that stayed with me: adrift. She and her husband had realized that, outside of holiday traditions, the rest of the year felt that way. So they started Sunday game nights and Tuesday evenings reading beside each other on the couch in their jammies. Only two weeks in, and she already loved them.

I love them, too. A little Sunday competition and a Tuesday that requires nothing but books, comfy pants, and being together. Two simple things to look forward to in a week that could otherwise disappear into work, errands, and figuring out dinner. Again. Despite having handled that issue yesterday, and the day before, and the day before…

When life becomes copy and paste

It’s easy to spend our days getting through things. We work, answer messages, run errands, start the laundry, and suddenly it’s Monday again. We say, “We should do something soon,” to people we miss, walk past the closet full of games we never play, and wait for a less busy season to have some fun.

Sometimes we’re exhausted. Sometimes we’re in a rut. Sometimes we don’t know where to begin, so we keep tripping forward. Then a holiday arrives, and suddenly there’s a plan: familiar food, people we expect to see, something we do every year. For a little while, our calendar has character.

But there’s a lot of life between holidays. What gives those days something to look forward to and come home to?

We’ve given the holidays a too large assignment

So many memories gather around holidays because generations of families have returned to the same recipes, gatherings, and rituals. There’s comfort in knowing what happens next and where we belong. But we’ve also loaded those occasions with an extraordinary amount of pressure, especially for mothers, who so often get handed the unpaid labor of “making the magic.”

Find the perfect gifts. Coordinate the outfits. Decorate the house. Create a treasured childhood, preferably with photographic evidence. There’s a relentless sales pitch attached: buy this, book that, here are seventeen things you need for a magical December. Meanwhile, a perfectly good Wednesday in April passes without much consideration.

What if we spread some of that intention and joy across the year without giving ourselves another shopping list? My friend’s reading night is a lovely answer. The dress code is jammies, the activity is already on the bookshelf, and the person she wants to spend time with is right there.

A little rebellion, with real butter

I believe creating joy from what we already have is a small act of resistance. Consumer culture keeps telling us that a better life requires another purchase. Even having fun comes with suggested equipment, upgrades, and matching accessories.

Using what we own, enjoying public spaces, and gathering without making spending the main event pushes back against that. You already paid for the board game. Your taxes help support the parks. Your streaming subscription is already showing up on your credit card statement. There are good evenings waiting in those things.

And if you spend a few bucks making movie popcorn at home, the butter can actually be real. Bonus if you add bacon bits or garlic salt. I am strongly in favor of a rebellion with good snacks.

Give the week something worth repeating

A weekly or monthly anchor can be simple enough to survive a busy schedule. The little rituals you add along the way help make it yours.

Make movie night an occasion. Use a subscription or those old-school DVDs you already own. Pull movie titles from a hat or play rock-paper-scissors to decide who picks. Make fancy popcorn. Eventually, the selection process may generate as many stories as the films.

Rescue the games from the closet. Those boxes have spent enough time developing their dust collections. Pick a regular night and open one. A deck of cards counts, too. So does yard games. If you don’t want to host, look for game clubs or library and neighborhood game nights, checking for fees or purchase requirements before you go.

Try a pantry recipe night. Make something new with ingredients you already have. That mysterious can in the cupboard has been waiting for its moment. Cook together and accept that the result may become either a favorite recipe or a cautionary tale.

Create a standing invitation. A monthly porch potluck gives neighbors a reason to pull up a chair. Keep it easy and share the effort. Nobody needs to redecorate the patio, and someone else can bring chips.

Borrow a book and some quiet company. Use your library, swap through a Little Free Library, or finally open something from your own unread pile. Spend an evening reading beside a friend or partner. No discussion questions, no deadline, jammies encouraged. This is especially powerful for the introverts or burnt out among us!

Find an anchor in your community. Return to a favorite park for a weekly walk, choose one free community event each month, or explore a recurring volunteer opportunity together. Ask a local shelter about its process for volunteer dog walkers. Shared places and shared purpose give us more ways to feel connected.

Your next good evening may already be paid for

Take a look at what you already have access to. Could that MasterClass membership become a regular learn-something-together evening? Could your ebook subscription support books-and-jammies Tuesday? If you actually want to use it, give it a place in your life. If you don’t, cancel it. We’re creating joy, and maybe a little savings activity.

Look at your library, parks department, and community calendars, too. Free concerts, classes, trails, and gathering spaces are worth exploring. A monthly commitment to try one free local event can become its own tradition, even when the activity changes.

The goal is to notice the possibilities within reach and choose a few you’ll enjoy returning to.

Every tradition has a second week

Please don’t read this and assign yourself seven themed evenings. I’m a planner, and even I would tell the over-zealous to calm down and focus.

Start with one small thing. Choose it with your partner, family, or friends, give it a regular time, and share the effort so one person doesn’t become responsible for everyone else’s fun. When a busy week gets away from you, come back the next. A missed Tuesday does not require the dissolution of the Jammies Reading Society.

My friend called hers “fledgling traditions,” which I love. Every longstanding ritual had a second week. Someone enjoyed the first one enough to do it again. Over time, a simple plan became “our thing.”

Fun doesn’t expire when we leave our twenties, and it doesn’t need to hibernate until Halloween. We can spread joy across the year, strengthen our connections, and build memories without buying our way into every experience.

Good memories aren’t just born. They’re built, sometimes with a standing invitation, a battered board game, and a little intention on an ordinary evening.

Does your year ever feel adrift outside the holidays? What’s one small tradition you could start using something you already own or something free in your community?