I rediscovered an old-school truth this week:
time + salt + exposure = transformation.
Dry brine. Uncovered. Patience.
I watched that prime rib sit in the fridge for three days and wondered.
I wanted to mess with it.
Add more seasoning.
Do something.
That familiar masculine impulse whispered:
You should be doing more.
Then into the oven.
I checked the temperature like a nervous parent.
Opened the door.
Checked again.
The discomfort of not controlling the outcome.
118 degrees.
Out. Wrapped tight.
And then… more waiting.
Two hours later I lifted the foil.
Still steaming.
Made the first cut.
Red.
Juicy.
Perfect.
And I saw it clearly:
The same pattern that wanted to interfere with that meat
wanted to interfere with Christmas.
To make it “better.”
To add more.
To perform instead of be present.
So this year was different.
Fewer presents.
More presence.
Prime rib done right.
Board games until 4am.
My wife and daughter suddenly singing their way through The Sound of Music —
“How do you solve a problem like Maria?” —
while I just sat there grinning.
Football.
Coffee.
Quiet.
The art isn’t going backward.
It’s learning to recognize the impulse to complicate, control, and rush —
and choosing to let the good parts sit.
Uncovered.
Exposed.
Given time.
Where is your restlessness trying to do the work that only time can do?