Catching Santa

What is your most memorable holiday experience as a child?

Was it the twinkling lights that made the living room feel magical? The soft glow of candles in the window? That funny “soap foam snow” that never looked quite like snow, but still felt like a miracle when you were little? Or maybe it was real snow, the kind that hushes the whole neighborhood and makes even a plain streetlight look like something out of a storybook.

For me, the memory that comes back the fastest is from when I was six years old, and I was absolutely determined to do the impossible: stay up all night and “catch” Santa. I had a plan, too. A serious one. I was going to keep my eyes open, listen for every sound, and be ready. I imagined myself sitting up in bed like a tiny detective, alert and brave, ready to witness the world’s most famous sneak-and-deliver operation.

There was only one problem. We didn’t have a fireplace for Santa to make it to our house. In the way only parents can, my mom and dad solved this with such confidence that it felt completely normal: they purchased a cardboard fireplace from Sears and assembled it so Santa would have a proper place to land. A cardboard fireplace. With a cardboard chimney. I can still picture it and though I knew cardboard wasn’t brick, something about that fireplace made it feel completely official. That night, I was excited and anxious and as the hours crawled by, my bravery got quieter. The house was dark and still, the kind of stillness that makes your imagination louder. Every creak sounded like a footstep. Every little whoosh of the furnace sounded like movement. I remember lying in bed, eyes wide, listening so hard that my whole body felt like it was leaning toward morning.

And then I heard it.

Santa arriving through the cardboard chimney. I know how that sounds, and I’m smiling as I write it. But in that moment, it was as real as anything I’d ever known. My heart started pounding so fast it felt like it might shake the bed. I remember the mix of excitement and fear rising together, like two waves colliding. I wanted to run out of my room. I wanted to see him. I wanted to catch him. But I didn’t move.

Instead, I shook under the blankets, frozen in that moment of being thrilled and terrified at the exact same time. And somewhere in the middle of all that wonder was my mother’s warning about coal in my stocking, echoing in my head like a perfectly timed commercial break: Be good… or else.

So I stayed put. Not as brave as I imagined I’d be. Listening. Waiting. When morning finally came, the world felt brand new. That’s the part I remember most clearly, the anticipation, excitement, and trepidation. The swirl of emotions that made everything feel bigger than it was. It’s such a vivid memory because it wasn’t just about Santa or presents. It was about the feeling of standing right on the edge of something unknown. It’s funny what sticks with us.

Because even now, all these years later, that same emotional mixture still shows up in my work. When a new project is about to go live, when an organization is stepping into a major transformation, when I’m about to begin a presentation, I can feel it: excitement and trepidation, side by side.

If you’ve ever supported a go-live, you know the feeling. You’ve tested and trained, prepared and communicated. You’ve done everything you can to set people up for success. And still, when the moment arrives, you can feel the air change. It’s not just a milestone on a timeline. It’s a step from the known into the unknown. It’s the moment when the “cardboard fireplace” becomes the real thing, and everyone wonders, quietly, if it’s going to work. That’s what anticipating change does. It wakes up emotion.

When we move from familiar routines into new systems, expectations, processes, or new leadership approaches, our minds don’t just evaluate the shift. Our bodies react. Our stories kick in. We feel anticipation, excitement, and yes, sometimes fear. We wonder if we’re ready. We wonder if we’ll be good at the new thing. We wonder what we might lose, even if we’re also hopeful about what we might gain. And in today’s world, where change isn’t occasional but constant, learning to lead and navigate the whitewater of rapid change is no longer a “nice-to-have.” It’s an essential skill. That’s why I want you to know I’m READY to help.

READY means we do the work that makes change feel possible, human, and actionable. We create a relevant and relatable story of change so people aren’t left guessing. We engage leaders so sponsorship is visible and real, not just a name on a slide. We advance communication and advocacy so the message isn’t lost in the noise. We develop and support people so capability grows alongside the change. And we stay anchored in the why to reduce resistance, because when people understand purpose, they can find their footing.

Change doesn’t have to feel like shaking under the covers, hoping you don’t end up with coal. With the right approach, it can feel like waking up to possibility. Like stepping into a new season with clarity, support, and a sense that you’re not doing it alone.

As we move through this holiday season, I’m sending love and wishing you, your family, and your friends health, connection, and peace. May your days include a little warmth, a little rest, and at least one moment that feels like twinkling lights in the dark.

When 2026 delivers the next chapter of change, let’s meet it together, with clarity and confidence.

Warmly,
April