Edit 8: Holiday, Lightly
I’ve always loved The Holiday-not just for the plot and the Nancy Meyers design magic, but for the idea behind it: that sometimes all it takes to soften the edges of a season is a change of place. New light. New streets. A different rhythm that releases whatever’s been held too tight.
This Christmas, we headed to Charleston with that spirit in mind-and for a very specific reason. It felt like our own quiet version of that promise.
For the first time, Madeline didn’t have Christmas off. Life shifted, as it does, and rather than sit with the ache of missing her, we decided to go to her instead and meet her where she is. To fold ourselves into her days rather than asking her to step away from them.
It felt like the most natural choice.
Charleston has a way of making that choice feel easy. It doesn’t rush. It doesn’t demand an itinerary. It invites wandering instead. Cobblestones underfoot, church bells marking time instead of alarms…there’s a softness in the air that feels like an exhale, even in their warmer days of winter.
The holiday touches feel…edited.
Wreaths don’t shout. Twinkle lights glow rather than blink. Christmas trees are framed by history instead of spectacle. It’s festive without insisting you participate at full volume. You can certainly find it if you want it, but overall the city is thoughtful in its holiday spirit.
And that’s the mood I was craving this year.
I didn’t need a checklist of traditions or a perfectly timed schedule. None of us did. We wanted slow mornings and long walks. Coffee or hot chocolate in hand, camera along for the ride, but not leading it. I wanted to notice things-shutters painted just so, the orangey-pink sky at dusk, the way the city seemed to dress itself quietly for the season.
There’s something grounding about choosing presence over nostalgia-about realizing that tradition isn’t fixed-it moves with the people you love. That sometimes Christmas wasn’t about recreating what was, but about honoring what is.
In Charleston, the holiday doesn’t announce itself. It waits for you to look up.
That’s the version I want to keep with me now that we’ve returned home. Not the rush. Not the pressure. Just the quiet joy of having gone where love already was.
A holiday, lightly held.
Just enough sparkle.
And exactly the right place to be.
All photography featured in this post is original work by E.D. Quon Photography and is protected by copyright. Please enjoy, but do not copy, reproduce, or use without permission.
