Comfort and Joy
(When Comfort Is a Nut Roll, and That’s Perfectly Okay)
Every year around the holidays, Greg and Shannon, “My brothers from another mother,” give us a nut roll.
It has become a tradition. Five years running now. Same gift. Same quiet delight. We have moved to a different state, and they MAKE sure I get it! There is an unspoken understanding that this is not just food. This is care. This is attention. This is love wrapped in wax paper and flaky dough.
In a world where comfort sometimes feels like a scarce commodity, it is okay to hold tight to the little things that bring us warmth. For me, that thing is this nut roll. A treat so special that I have become humorously protective of it. And yes, it is absolutely mine. They even send a smaller one for my husband so he does not feel left out. This detail matters. It tells you everything you need to know about love, foresight, and boundaries done right.
Let me be clear. This nut roll is not to be rushed. It is not to be sliced recklessly. It is not to be offered casually to unexpected visitors. This is sacred pastry territory.
The dough is flaky, tender, and forgiving. Not dry. Not heavy. Just right. The filling is rich and nutty with the perfect balance of sweetness and crunch. Every bite delivers comfort without overwhelm. There is no need to add anything. No glaze. No drizzle. No improvement required. It is complete exactly as it is.
You can smell it before you taste it. That warm, toasted nuttiness that fills the kitchen and slows you down without asking permission. The first bite is quiet. You feel it before you think about it, the soft give of the dough, the way the filling holds together just long enough, the way it lingers. It asks you to stay present. To chew. To notice.
And isn’t life like that sometimes?
When we allow ourselves to slow down, to savor what is in front of us, we realize it does not need fixing, rushing, or explaining. It simply needs our attention.
There are very few things I find comfort in these days, and that makes it even more important to honor the ones that still reach me. This nut roll reminds me that I am loved. That a simple bite can feel like a hug from people who care. That a small, intentional ritual can refill my tank when everything else feels loud or heavy.
And that, right there, is the lesson.
We live in a season that tells us more is better. More giving. More doing. More hosting. More explaining. More tolerant. We stretch ourselves thin in the name of holiday spirit and forget that joy is not supposed to be exhausting.
Some things are not meant to be shared with everyone. Some things are meant to be enjoyed slowly, intentionally, with gratitude. That does not make you selfish. It makes you wise.
So here is the invitation. Find your version of the nut roll. Maybe it is a favorite book, a quiet bath, a handful of chocolates, or a steaming cup of coffee. Let it be something you do not have to share if you do not want to. Let it be a gentle, slightly humorous reminder that a little selfish comfort can be a radical act of self-care.
And because this would not be Quackenbush Coaching without something practical, take a moment today to identify one comfort ritual you can claim as your own. Protect it. Laugh about it. Let it be your hug on a plate.
Comfort and joy are not loud. They do not demand performance. They show up softly, consistently, year after year, and ask only that you receive them.
So this season, I am guarding my nut roll.
And my peace.
And my energy.
With love.
With intention.
With zero apologies.
#HolidaySeason
#EndOfYearReflection
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