Dear Santa,

The other day I came across an email that said “for those who still believe.” The email had to do with you, but I didn’t read it. I still have a difficult time understanding that there are those who don’t believe in you. Because as surely as I sit here and type away, I know you exist. Perhaps it’s childish of me to not want to hear any arguments to the contrary. Perhaps it’s naive, self-serving, potentially self-destructive even, to cover my ears and scream “I can’t hear you!” when you come up as a topic for debate. As if there is a debate to be had. (And I may or may not actually cover my ears and scream “I can’t hear you!” But I do it in a nice way.)

But I believe Santa. I believe in your wisdom and compassion. I believe in your gratitude and generosity. They are traits I wish I had more of myself. In fact, if I could put those on my Christmas list, that would be swell. I could use a bit more of all four of those traits in my life.

Of course I have some material items on my Christmas list. My wardrobe (both work and play) could use some updating. There are always books I want to read. And the stovetop cappuccino maker has been on my wish list for some time. There are training staples, like running shoes and swim gear. My bike helmet and shoes have seen better (and less stinky) days. I’d like to be faster and more disciplined. To be more confident and engaging and humble and funny. And maybe to be able to sing on key. And who doesn’t want world peace? Or at least the beginnings of peace in their own lives?

I know you often work in cahoots with the universe, bringing me gifts, both materially and otherwise, throughout the year, usually when I least expect it. Sometimes it takes a while for me to see the gift, but it’s always there. It’s just more obvious when you bring it on Dec. 25 in your jolly red suit.

So Santa, I trust that whatever you leave me on Christmas Eve will be exactly what I need. Because I know you believe in me just as much as I believe in you.

With love,

Amy