I’ve decided to adopt a new mantra for the holidays — which, if you’re parentless — are always a deep-down-where-no-one-can-see-it yucko sucko time of the year.

Let’s face it. The holidays are hard no matter what your story is. It’s a challenging time for everyone because the holidays are steeped in fellowship and nostalgia and all sorts of weird emotion and, hello…real talk, please…relationships with other humans are waaaayyy complicated and messy, especially when you’re sitting around a table or at a big party together, quietly harboring unfair comparisons to your own traditions and experiences.

My dad used to say “comparisons are odious,” a quote I think he lifted from The Bard. He, and Shakespeare, of course, were right. Comparisons are grief’s tricky little way of completely ruining the holidays, and hijacking most relationships.

So back to my 2024 mantra. I’ve decided it’s this: My cup runneth over. It’s a simple line in a Psalm. It’s easy to remember. It’s short. I’m going to repeat it over and over again this holiday season: My. Cup. Runneth. Over. But wait…there’s more! This zippy little mantra comes with a visual even. The image is a big, stemless wine glass in my hand — maybe one that says “Dog Mom” or “Mom Juice” in cheugy etched script — filled with a rich, oaky endless faucet pour of Chardonnay that spills out over the rim and onto the floor and puddles at my huaraches. And that person receiving the brunt of my odious comparison? They’re holding an empty glass.

Let me explain. I value family, faith, connection, graciousness, authenticity and unconditional love. Why? Because my parents, family and friends were liberal with their application of these qualities, and I was fortunate to receive them. My mom and dad made me feel capable and supported, we said I love you — a lot, like, every time any coming or going occurred at our house. I found similar connections in the friends I collected over the years. Our relationships were always equal parts listening, imparting and absorbing. I felt whole, and heard. I felt part of a community that included dedicated grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins and framily. I still feel this way! I am stupidly lucky. Plain and simple.

But as I’ve gotten older, and family and memories have faded away, I’m now left with shifty memories and those dang odious comparisons. The ones that invade, sour and sometimes spoil holidays and other celebrations throughout the year.

My cup runneth over.

The glass in my hand is an embarrassing flood, like a Steele Cuvee fountain.

The person in front of me — the subject of my odious ire — their glass is so empty there’s a dust bunny and silverfish slow dancing in the epicure. They have not experienced the rich, buttery, love that is the experience of my childhood. And yet, here I stand like some entitled pyscho, expectant of a club pour from them, tapping my glass for another round of unconditional love, banking on a double. So dumb! They had a different tradition, their nostalgia is not the same as mine. Perhaps, they don’t even drink Chardonnay! Whatever the reason, their glass is dry. This is sad and curious, but certainly not ruinous.

My cup runneth over.

What would a polite, loving, hostess-with-the-mostest kind of gal do when faced with the travesty of a friend’s empty cup? She’d fill the damn glass. And she’d be grateful to her family and friends — her parents in heaven most especially — for cultivating a vineyard that yielded such a tremendous, and share-able, harvest. I am thankful for the vintage that keeps on giving.

My cup runneth over.