One of my poetry teachers, Donald Revell, says that the best part of any poetry reading is the moment when the poet says, “this is the last poem.”

It’s not that we (poetry students and poetry teachers) don’t enjoy poetry readings, it’s just that we know the last poem will be especially good and since it probably won’t be too long, we can pay special attention.

This is the last blog.

The metaphor for this blog series has been the Advent calendar—a countdown December 1st through Christmas Eve replete with daily prizes. I give my family advent calendars each year—I often make them—this year I bought them. This is the first year I wrote one.

The last door on the Advent calendar opens to the best prize—my daughter received (and promptly ate) a big chocolate Santa (it was the first thing she mentioned to me this morning), my son put together a Lego Mandolorian wearing a Christmas scarf and carrying baby Yoda, and I got a smooth white coffee mug after 23 equally smooth Nespresso pods.

So, in keeping with the trope, this should be the best and most desirable blog of the series.

Part of me wants that, too. I thought I might reflect on themes I have touched on in writing these blogs or string all the titles together to create a clever poetic narrative full of insight and discovery—the secret message of Advent.

But the most significant moment of these blogs is not written in the blogs themselves; it is the fact that I wrote them at all. 24 separate pieces. One a day. Even on days filled with grading or brimming with excitement or empty of inspiration, I wrote. Yes, I fudged a couple of posting dates and revised a lot after publication, but I wrote. Even when I did not think I could or when others said I didn’t have to, I wrote.

Some pieces were gifts that made it to the page in a few minutes and others were labors that took the whole day to appear.

Regardless, I saw the project through.

Even when my world is dark and wintering, when others don’t want what I have or when I don’t want to share, words await. Behind the door.

Open it.