Feeling blue during the holidays doesn’t mean you’re broken. In this opening episode of Beating the Holiday Blues, Dr. Ray Calabrese explores why sadness often rises during the season—and why that’s completely human. Through music, poetry, and psychology, this episode offers reassurance, permission, and gentle hope for anyone feeling emotionally out of step with holiday cheer.
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Your personal myth is the story you believe about yourself—and it shapes your choices, relationships, and sense of meaning. In this episode, Dr. Ray Calabrese explores Carl Jung’s powerful idea of personal myth and how becoming conscious of your story allows you to rewrite it with purpose, courage, and hope.
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Even in your darkest hours, hope is already working behind the scenes—waiting for the moment you refuse to quit.
“Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.” ~ Anne Lamott
Hope rarely announces itself with trumpets. More often, it flickers quietly in the darkness, asking only that we keep showing up. Anne Lamott reminds us that hope is stubborn—it refuses to quit even when the path feels hidden. Sometimes all we can do is take one small step, whisper one small prayer, do one small act of goodness. And then another. Dawn doesn’t rush, but it never fails to arrive. When we trust the process—waiting, watching, working—we become co-creators of our own light.
What is one moment in your life when staying the course led you to your own sunrise?
When everything feels lost, hope has a quiet way of stepping forward—and changing the story.
Have you ever been lost—really lost? I have. I was six years old when my parents took me to the beach. I wandered away, and when I turned around, nothing looked familiar. Blankets, towels, and umbrellas stretched as far as my small eyes could see, but none of them hid the parents I was desperately searching for.
I walked back and forth, heart pounding, until the fear finally broke through and I began to cry. A couple noticed, knelt beside me, and gently asked what was wrong. When I told them I was lost, they took me straight to the police station. And just like that, my fear lifted. I knew the police would find my parents. I knew we’d be reunited.
My disaster turned around because hope lives. Even at six years old, I had hope.
Hope is the life-breathing, life-sustaining fuel that pulls us out of darkness and back into the sunlight. Viktor Frankl called it meaning—the “why” that gives us strength in any “how.” When we discover our why, when we understand why tomorrow is worth waking up for, hope rises inside us like dawn.
Let hope live in you. Let it live through everything you do.
Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
smiling by the windows looking out
in our directions
back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you
over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you
with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is
William Stanley Merwin’s “Thanks” is both haunting and luminous—a reminder that gratitude is not reserved for moments of joy but born out of endurance. His lines unfold like a prayer whispered through pain, loss, and human struggle. Even as hospitals, funerals, wars, and dying forests surround us, Merwin insists that we keep saying thank you.
This gratitude isn’t denial—it’s defiance. To say thank you amid darkness is to assert that life, though fragile, still holds meaning. It’s to recognize that beauty survives even in decay, and that hope is not the absence of suffering but the courage to see beyond it.
Merwin’s poem asks us to keep the light alive—one thank you at a time.
Question for Readers:
When life feels heavy, what helps you find the strength to keep saying thank you?
“Into the woods–you have to grope,
But that’s the way you learn to cope.
Into the woods to find there’s hope
Of getting through the journey.”
“En el bosque, hay que andar a tientas, pero así es como se aprende a afrontarlo. En el bosque, para encontrar esperanza, de superar el viaje.” Stephen Sondheim
“走进森林——你必须摸索， 但这是你学习应对的方式。 走进森林，找到希望， 完成旅程。”——斯蒂芬·桑德海姆
Reflection
Stephen Sondheim’s lines from Into the Woods echo the truth of every human journey: we learn by moving forward, even when we can’t see the way. Life rarely hands us a clear map. Instead, it asks us to take one unsure step after another, trusting that each moment of struggle teaches us how to cope, adapt, and grow. The “woods” symbolize not just confusion, but possibility—the chance to discover strength we didn’t know we had. Hope doesn’t wait for the path to clear; it walks beside us through the shadows. Every journey through uncertainty becomes a quiet act of courage.
Question for Readers:
When have you found unexpected hope while navigating one of life’s “woods”?
When every side blames the other and society feels divided beyond repair, it may not be the end—it might be the beginning of something greater.
I meet many people of differing political persuasions who are upset with the direction of contemporary society. Each side contains the other side for causing the problems. The only way through the mess that they say is to impose that will on everyone. Once there will is imposed everything will be OK. We all know that’s not true. It’s never worked through throughout history. And it will not work in our contemporary situation. We can take some solace in applying Thomas Kuhn;s stages of scientific progress. Our current stage can be compared to his pre-paradigm phase of competing schools of thought, where there is a long period of normal science where a dominant paradigm is established and used for “puzzle-solving,” a crisis phase that arises from accumulating anomalies not solvable by the current paradigm,.
This sounds a lot like what is happening today. The good news is according Kuhn there will be an accumulation of anomalies—problems and results that cannot be solved within the existing paradigm—eventually leads to a crisis. The established paradigm begins to show its weaknesses, and a period of extraordinary science emerges where new approaches are permitted.
Thomas Kuhn’s idea of paradigm shifts reminds us that chaos often precedes clarity. When old systems no longer work, frustration and blame rise to the surface. It feels like collapse—but in truth, it’s transformation. Humanity has faced these crossroads countless times, and from each came new understanding and progress. The noise and confusion of our age may simply mean the old paradigm is cracking, making space for the new. Hope lives in that space between endings and beginnings. If we hold faith in reason, compassion, and dialogue, a better order will emerge—not imposed, but discovered together.
Reader Question:
What signs do you see that a new paradigm—a wiser, more humane way of thinking—is beginning to take shape?
Consult not your fears but your hopes and your dreams. Think not about your frustrations, but about your unfulfilled potential. Concern yourself not with what you tried and failed in, but with what it is still possible for you to do. ~ Pope John XXIII
No te fijes en tus miedos, sino en tus esperanzas y sueños. No pienses en tus frustraciones, sino en tu potencial incumplido. No te preocupes por lo que intentaste y fracasaste, sino por lo que aún puedes lograr. ~ Papa Juan XXIII
不要去想你的恐惧，而要去想你的希望和梦想。不要去想你的挫折，而要想想你尚未实现的潜力。不要去想你尝试过却失败的事情，而要去想你还能做什么。～教皇约翰二十三世
Reflection
Pope John XXIII reminds us to stop holding meetings with our fears. They have nothing new to say. Instead, he calls us to consult our hopes and dreams—the inner compass that always points toward possibility. Life’s frustrations and failures are temporary shadows; our potential remains untouched, waiting for belief to bring it to life. Every person carries unfulfilled possibilities, and it’s never too late to act on them. When we fix our gaze on what can still be done, our energy shifts from regret to renewal. Hope becomes the architect of tomorrow.
Question:
When have you silenced your fears long enough to hear the quiet voice of hope—and what new path did it reveal?
LET the wind blow cold, let it beat my face,
Let the clouds above heavy snow-flakes fling,
Let the north wind blow, raging all it will,—
Yet I live in hope soon or late comes spring.
Let the heavy clouds make the clear sky dark,
Let the dense fogs cover the earth from sight,
Let the elements be together mixed,
Yet I know the sun will again be bright.
Let harsh trials come, persecutions rage,
And the light grow dim of the sun on high;
To Armenian hearts, pain is naught to dread—
But the poor man’s hope must not fade and die!
Raphael Raphael’s poem The Sure Hope is a hymn to resilience. The imagery of biting winds, darkened skies, and raging elements is more than just weather—it’s a metaphor for the hardships we endure. The poet reminds us that even when trials press heavily upon us, we must not allow hope to fade. Like winter giving way to spring, or clouds parting for sunlight, life’s seasons shift. Hope becomes not just wishful thinking, but a certainty we carry in our hearts. The final stanza highlights an important truth: external storms cannot extinguish the inner flame of faith and perseverance. Reading this, we are invited to see our own struggles in a larger rhythm—the assurance that sorrow is not the last word, and that resilience blooms in the soil of hope.
When you face seasons of hardship, what practices or beliefs help you hold onto hope until brighter days arrive?
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Today (October 4) we celebrate the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, a man whose life still speaks with quiet power across the centuries. Francis was born into privilege but gave it all up, trading wealth for simplicity, comfort for poverty, and status for humility. He found joy not in possessions but in presence—in the beauty of creation, in the song of birds, in the kindness of friends, and even in the embrace of suffering.
His famous prayer, “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,” captures the heart of his message. Francis understood that the world is healed not by force, but by gentleness; not by pride, but by humility; not by judgment, but by mercy. His way of living challenges us to become channels of light in places of darkness, of love in places of hatred, of hope where despair lingers.
In a noisy and divided age, St. Francis still calls us back to what matters most: peace, compassion, and reverence for all life. To live as Francis lived is to trust that even the smallest act of kindness can ripple outward to heal the world. His life is a reminder that true greatness is found not in domination, but in service.
May we, like Francis, walk gently on this earth, carrying peace in our hearts and scattering love wherever our footsteps fall.”
