Movies, Music, and Memories

Some people need a perfectly trimmed tree, a color-coordinated ribbon theme, and a house that smells like a cinnamon candle exploded.

Me? I just need Chevy Chase losing his mind over Christmas lights.

There’s something magical about the way certain movies and music flip a switch inside us and suddenly—boom—it’s Christmas. Not the frantic, to-do-list kind, but the kind that settles in your chest and says, Ahhh… here we are.

Take National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, for instance. I can be in the grumpiest, most un-Christmas mood imaginable, and five minutes in—right about the time Clark Griswold starts unraveling—I’m laughing. Not a polite chuckle. A full, honest laugh that loosens the shoulders and reminds me not to take any of this too seriously.

Because really, if Christmas were ever going to be perfect, it would have happened by now. And yet, year after year, we keep showing up—burnt cookies, tangled lights, unrealistic expectations and all.

Then there’s the music.

I love Christmas songs, but there’s something especially peaceful about instrumental Christmas music. No lyrics, no rush—just familiar melodies floating softly in the background like a gentle snowfall. It turns ordinary moments into sacred ones: washing dishes, wrapping gifts, sitting quietly with a cup of something warm.

That music takes me back. To years when Christmas felt slower. To family traditions that didn’t require planning apps or Amazon tracking numbers. To living rooms filled with familiar faces, laughter, and the comforting predictability of doing the same things every year.

These little rituals—watching that one movie we’ve seen a hundred times, playing the same music our parents played—matter more than we realize. They ground us. They remind us who we were, who we loved, and how deeply those memories are stitched into who we are now.

Maybe that’s why they bring so much joy.

They’re not just entertainment.
They’re time machines.

So if you find yourself struggling to “feel” Christmas this year, don’t force it. Put on the movie. Let the music play. Laugh at the same jokes. Close your eyes during the quiet parts.

Sometimes the spirit of Christmas doesn’t arrive with bells and whistles.
Sometimes it slips in softly—on a familiar tune, a well-worn DVD, and the simple comfort of remembering.

And honestly? That’s my favorite kind of Christmas.