I pulled off the surprise of the decade, but not without a little grit along the way.
Last Wednesday, my mum turned 80. On Saturday, my sister celebrated her birthday. Somewhere between those two milestones, I boarded a plane from Las Cruces to Central New York, intent on surprising the people I love most.
I didn’t make it to Syracuse on Thursday as I planned.
My first flight was delayed. I got stuck in Dallas. Plans unraveled. I was tired, cold, and very aware that intention doesn’t guarantee ease.
Still, there were small mercies. A food and hotel voucher, gratefully received. A hotel stay in Syracuse I’d already booked for that first night — one I technically shouldn’t have been refunded for — was returned without argument when I asked. No fight. Just kindness. Grace showing up in quiet, practical ways.
I arrived a day later than expected, but I arrived.
I surprised my parents on Friday. I surprised my sister on Saturday. And in between, we gathered for a family brunch, shared meals, watched football, and laughed — the kind of laughter that reminds you who you are and where you come from.
It was cold. Snow fell steadily outside. December in Central New York is not for the faint of heart.
It was exhausting at times.
And it was absolutely worth it.
As we edge closer to 2026, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to live with intention. Not the polished, aspirational version, but the kind rooted in real life. The kind that makes room for delays, detours, and discomfort, while still choosing what matters most.
Because life is short.
Because tomorrow isn’t promised.
Because today is the only place we ever get to decide.
So this time, I chose people.
I chose presence over presents.
Connection over convenience.
Frozen fingers and long travel days over staying home, where it would have been easier and warmer.
I didn’t bring gifts. I didn’t need to. At one point I joked, “All I want for Christmas is you, and all you’re getting is me!” And they were thrilled. Truly. No wrapping paper required.
I’m an introvert by nature. I protect my energy carefully. But in those days with family, I felt almost extroverted, buoyed by shared stories, inside jokes, and the comfort of being known.
Yes, I missed Jim.
Being apart from him was hard. We ground each other. We bring each other peace, calm, and joy. But we also knew not to push his recovery from his second hip replacement surgery. Love sometimes looks like staying put so someone else can heal.
Reuniting after four days brought another level of joy, the kind that comes from choosing what’s best, even when it’s hard, and then finding your way back to each other with deep gratitude.
This trip reminded me that making people a priority is rarely efficient, but it is almost always meaningful.
It takes effort.
It takes recovery time.
It asks something of you.
But it gives back more than it costs.
Next up in January, God-willing, we’ll gather again, this time to celebrate my parents’ 60th wedding anniversary. One day. All of us together. In Florida.
January in Florida? Yes, please.
December in New York? Cold, snowy, not ideal.
And still, I’m glad I went.
As the new year approaches, I don’t want to live on autopilot or wait for perfect conditions. I want to live awake. Intentionally. With my values leading the way.
Choose wisely today.
Choose people.
Choose presence.
Choose the kind of joy that leaves you tired, grateful, and fully alive.
I’ll take the cold, the delays, and the long way around every time if it means arriving where love lives.
As the new year begins, I’m choosing intention, presence, and the messy, beautiful work of showing up because in 2026, I want to live where my heart already is: in real moments with real people who matter.
As I flew home, thinking about the gift I had given my family, I realized something quietly important: I needed it just as much as they did.
Connection.
Familiarity.
Shared experiences that weren’t just the hard ones.
There were hugs with Mike, a small conspiracy, a well-kept secret held with care.
Meeting Amanda’s new boyfriend and falling in love with their love, the respect, the admiration. Watching how his space and grace for her strength and independence allows her light to shine brightly, without diminishing his own sense of self. Grateful they’re learning that kind of partnership young.
My nephews are no longer boys, but men in the making, becoming people to be proud of as they figure out who they are and who they want to be.
An aunt who only wanted a few minutes. Just enough time to say hello. Just enough time for a hug or two.
My sisters in-laws, who follow our journey from afar, delighted by the surprise, grateful for the chance to catch up in person.
None of it flashy. None of it loud. All of it deeply human.
It reminded me that sometimes the greatest gift isn’t what we give others. It’s what we allow ourselves to receive when we say yes to being there.
©2025 Lori Ann King
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