Advent is so much more than a religious period building up to Christmas. My partner, our doggo, and I each have an advent calendar. That may sound odd, but that’s our little bit of family time to start the day together.

When I was younger, advent was the part I couldn’t wait to speed up, so I could get straight to presents and the excitement of the big day. When I compare that to my attitudes towards sex, the same can be said for the need to hit fast forward and skip to the “good” part.

As a grown-up now and someone in recovery, the focus has shifted. I place much more value on today, right here and right now. Being present is still a work in progress; advent has come to symbolize some realities about being rooted in the moment.

Firstly, it is gratitude and joy for the arrival of the promise, the one who, as the story goes, arrived as a mere mortal born in humility. He grew up knowing no wrong and bore my deeds as an act of love and reconciliation, to bring me “from shame to grace.” This arrival heralded the end of a period of waiting and expectation; this Christmas feels like that for me.

It also symbolizes to me the reminder that I live in an imperfect world. The reconciliation and redemption I feel doesn’t deliver me from this world, nor does it promise perfection now. It’s a reminder that the hope of glory to come and grace is sufficient for me to see that even with the brokenness in the world, there is much to be grateful for and celebrate.

As I sat at my desk this morning, the glow of the Christmas tree lights caught the stealthily embossed text on the front of my Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. On my bookshelf, the books “The Porn Trap” and “Your Brain on Porn” were visible. The irony of the moment made me reach for my phone to take a picture.

The Step 9 promises say that “we will not regret the past nor wish to close the door on it.” Does that mean that I don’t regret where my addiction took me or play down the severity of boundaries I crossed, hurting those nearest to me? This, to me, means I accept that I can’t change it. I don’t have the ability to turn back time and do things differently. It also means I accept that I own these things and that means I don’t have to be incarcerated in chains of shame like Jacob Marley in “A Christmas Carol.”

I have met the ghosts of my past, present, and future, and they all taught me that connection to others and a life of servitude to my fellow humans is far more rewarding than the objectification of others.

As the days on the advent calendar pass, I lean into all the complexity of life, one day at a time: the ups, the downs, and everything in between.

Some of my precious moments now are in observing healing and forgiveness in others. When I hear stories of forgiveness and reconciliation in the rooms, I often well up. The gratitude for the simple act of holding hands or a family member being willing to move on from the past and invite them to that Sunday dinner. These are the miracles I get to see regularly.

“A Christmas Carol” or “It’s a Wonderful Life” are timeless for a reason. They tap into all the things that make us human and focus on bringing together the isolated and broken.

I will leave you with the reminder that little baby Jesus grew up to say, “Healthy people don’t need a doctor—sick people do. I have come to call not those who think they are righteous, but those who know they are sinners.”

Choose presence over presents.