Something struck me as odd during the Christmas break — or the festive season, as others call it.

Being a writer, I worked through it. Don’t feel sorry for me; I enjoyed it immensely. This time of year is oddly generous. My inbox filled with letters of gratitude from readers, some even sharing photographs of their Christmas meals. One email, from a single mother, stopped me cold. She had attached pictures of her children waving at the camera, smiling, joyful. Without thinking, I waved back at the screen before replying, my eyes welling up.

That’s when I noticed it.

Perhaps people feel lonelier during this time of year. For those without family, without a table to gather around, the festive season can feel like a cruel highlight reel of other people’s happiness — holidays, laughter, pets dragged along for long walks, faces smiling into cameras. Meanwhile, others sit in retirement homes, hospital wards, or mental health clinics — places I know all too well.

As I worked through my emails, comments, and reviews, I saw something else. Responses were faster. More immediate. More alive. At first, I dismissed it as seasonal FOMO — the fear of missing out amplified by tinsel and fairy lights. Or perhaps competition: the unspoken urge to prove one’s joy was greater than another’s.

But it kept gnawing at me.

I mentioned it to my wife. She gave me a look. My dog stared at me too, likely imagining turkey. Still, the thought wouldn’t leave me. I mulled it over for days, right up to Christmas.

Then it hit me.

People weren’t just bored — though they were. They weren’t just lonely — though many were. They were looking. Looking for something real. Looking for anyone willing to step forward, take a small risk, speak honestly, and create a moment of connection.

So I tested the theory. With the help of my “captain” (my nickname for ChatGPT), I wrote an email — not to sell, not to impress, but to speak plainly. The response was staggering. Well beyond benchmarks. Well beyond expectations, especially for this time of year.

And then I understood.

People aren’t searching for saviors anymore. They’re tired of celebrities, influencers, polished heroes, and manufactured inspiration. We’ve been holding out for a hero for decades — and it turns out, that’s not what most people want after all.  They don’t want someone above them — they want someone with them. Someone willing to listen. Someone willing to say, “I’m here.”

That’s when the second email happened. This one was quieter. More vulnerable. An open door rather than a declaration. And the replies that followed were raw, human, and deeply moving.

It wasn’t a movement — not yet. But it felt like the beginning of something. A subtle shift. A shared recognition. A reminder that authenticity still cuts through the noise.

I’m curious where you land on this.

I’ve opened the question on Instagram if you feel like adding your voice.

And if you’re reading this, Bonnie Tyler — yes, that Bonnie Tyler — you’re welcome to join us too.

Salute.