In Iceland, it’s a tradition on New Year’s Eve to light massive bonfires and shoot off fireworks. This is called “blowing out the year.”
I was driving home from the airport after two weeks of exhausting travel and had just gotten off my exit.
I couldn’t wait to get home, and the finish line was minutes away. It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving and I was driving by a shopping mall to get to my small oasis on the lake.
Sitting at a red light, I looked over at the lane next to me and saw my first reminder of the next hardest holiday. A car had a Christmas tree strapped to the roof like a prized trophy. It punched me in the gut in a way that is hard to describe.