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And while our office isn’t the worst I’ve ever seen—at least we have windows and an open floor plan instead of fluorescent lights and cubicles—it is all millennial gray, white, and modern chrome. There’s not a hint of cheer.

It took a months-long campaign and a signed petition from me to get the winter holiday decorations allowed. I represent every winter holiday I can, but the obvious centerpiece is the Christmas tree that goes in the corner of the room. I found it in a thrift shop before we got the okay, but I bought it anyway. These offices have tall ceilings, and as a girl, I’d always craned my head up at the Christmas tree in the mall, wondering what it would be like to have a tall, towering one like that.

So here in the office, I get to do just that.

The other rule about decorating is that I don’t get to do it until December first. There are to be no winter holiday decorations in the office before then, and they have to be taken down before we return in January.

Since I want everyone to get as much time with them as they possibly can, I’ve made it a tradition to come in for a little party early on the morning of December first. I put on Christmas music, hum to myself, and start systematically working through each of the totes.

I start with, of course, the tree. Once it’s up, even without lights, it completely transforms the look of the room.

The CEO is the first to arrive.

Patrick Dunne.

“Rhymes with no fun,” Marcie from marketing once said, leaning in to whisper to me a few days after I started. “He’s not, like, mean, but he’s definitely not a party boss.”

That proved to be right. He’s who I really went up against to get decorations allowed. The day we got a final decision, I provided a presentation outlining statistics around office decor and morale and the resulting increase in productivity, and he almost looked at me like he was impressed with me.

Almost.

After that, I got the job of decorating and, additionally, the title of assistant office manager. It came with a decent pay raise, which felt generous considering that I was the one who wanted to decorate so badly.

“Good morning, Mr. Dunne,” I say, dutifully, because he’s my boss and also, I’d say good morning to anyone coming through the door.

He looks away from the calendar on the wall to glance in my direction. “Right. Good morning.”

With that, he turns and walks into his office, closing the door. I am not allowed to decorate his office, though last year I got away with tinsel around the outside trim.

While Dunne is the first to arrive, there are more. It’s pretty common for people to wander in and out of the office this early. The night-staff custodians leave. Some employees come in early to work for the day; some check in to use the on-site fitness center. All of them are cheered up at the sight of me in my little red Christmas dress—the one I always wear on this day—putting up the decorations.

“Oh, honey, it already looks darling!” the secretary, Molly, says, clasping her hands together and looking up at the lights I’ve strewn over the ceiling. “I just love that you do this. I can’t imagine the holidays here without you!”

I fight against the tears that push at the backs of my eyes. “Thank you, Molly.”

When she goes, I turn back to the project at hand—dressing up the tree with lights, tinsel, and the amalgamation of ornaments I’ve thrifted and collected from colleagues over the years. Most of the office is still dark, people yet to have rushed in and plopped down at their computers.

It’s not even eight, and I’m already tired.

As I continue decorating, I try not to let those words loop in my head, but they do. And it’s a metaphor—not for me actually being tired, but for the fact that I’m already thirty-five and watching all my friends zoom past me in life.

I’m thirty-five, and instead of decorating a living room with my family, I’m standing here on a step stool in my office, trying to make sure my colleagues have Christmas cheer.

But I don’t want to create Christmas cheer only for other adults.

I want to be the mom that thinks up special little events leading up to the big day. The mom who has a list of Christmas movies posted on the wall, planned menus and snacks to coordinate with each one. To be the mom who picks a theme every year—Grinch, reindeer, silent night—and designs little games around them. Who chooses the family pajamas for Christmas Eve with an expert eye.

As I’m imagining it, I realize I want to be my mom.

Not for the first time since moving to Miami, my heart squeezes with missing her. I left Colorado at eighteen, when I was offered a great scholarship to the University of Florida. After graduating, I took an internship that connected me to a hiring manager here at Dunne Technologies, and I’ve been here ever since.

And I’ve enjoyed my career here. Enjoyed determining my own success through great account management.

It’s my job to maintain our biggest accounts. To ensure the enterprise customers are happy with their service and plan to renew each year. I contact them personally; I know their names and what’s going on with their families. I even have a budget to take them out for lunch, and I genuinely enjoy it. Some of my accounts—the people I talk to at our client companies—have become real friends to me.

My job is rewarding.

And it’s also hard work.