What if the greatest gift wasn't under the tree?
Outside, there was snow, a song playing out loud on the window glass.
Christmas Eve.
It was a place where you thought anything was possible. Only if it means writing this horrible post before midnight. I was bent over my laptop battling the words, deadlines tagging along like high-energy Santas. It was like any other Christmas Eve eve: me, a keyboard and a pile of unfinished tasks.
My phone buzzed. Mom. "Wanna bring hot cocoa and cookies! Don't work too hard, honey."
A familiar pang of guilt.
Time, pressures, the omnipresence of the digital sphere... they were quick to eclipse the actual, the relevant. The people who mattered most. Just like Jake in the book I wrote... the one where winning cost him everything.
I glanced at the clock. 10 PM. Fuel drained: coffee, grit and a shred of confidence that I could actually do this.
A knock at the door. My mom. Windstorm of winter coat, hot mug, and plate of Christmas cookies. "You deserve a break." She smiled like…
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