Every year, I try to rekindle that spark. I put up the tree, play the music, plug in the lights, and bake the cookies. For a fleeting moment, there’s a glint of excitement, like a faint ember catching fire. But it never lasts. The magic doesn’t come back. Instead, the holidays feel like another day with added expenses and expectations. I love seeing my son’s joy as he opens his gifts, but there’s a nagging guilt that my lack of excitement somehow diminishes the experience for him. I want him to have the warmth I felt as a child, but I worry I can’t give it to him when I no longer feel it myself.