There's an air on campus that catches every nostalgic academic—a cold, cozy front. It soothes over the campus with a clouding windy whisper, illuminating what was dim. In classrooms, offices, and small nooks, little lights reveal gathering souls who've found their people. These moments become clear and evident, warm and real, staining our memories. They become a part of us. Maybe we're all chasing moments lost to the past, but they're not just confined there. Those small joys are here, they're now.
I see it when I walk the campus—in glimpses, not wholes. I pass by the bubbling talks of groups of twos and threes, and witness the quiet presence of solo wanderers who fear greeting first or making eye contact. I see it in the buildings: students huddled together in nearly desolate student lounges during finals week. Some focus on their books, while others laugh, smile, and listen to their company. The faculty find their own quiet moments too—like the one solving puzzles in the dim atmosphere of an almost empty student center. There's something deeply connected in all of this.
We experience these moments often, yet rarely pause to appreciate them fully. We don't appreciate those who create these moments of warmth. Through the winter's dark air, I think we need to stop—just for a moment—looking at all the numbers and the nationals. Maybe instead, we should try to reflect and notice the light of our community.
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Have you ever seen the Blinkie Lights twinkling in Kernersville's trees? They remind me of fallen stars caught in branches, a sight that started with one person's love. Roger Briles of Roger's Products Inc. created these unique light strands—just 12 flashing lights across 72 feet, or as we might say, "string lights that take turns blinking." The tradition began as Rick Pierce's tribute to his sister Pam, who had passed from lung cancer. One red bulb per strand honored her connection to the Red Hat Society. Now this personal memorial has transformed downtown Kernersville into a magical winter destination, with holiday music floating through illuminated streets.
The Greensboro Christmas Balls tell another story of community spirit. These chicken wire spheres wrapped in lights spread from Sunset Hills like a gentle ripple. What started as one neighbor's creative idea grew into a defining feature of the area, drawing visitors from everywhere to experience their charm.
These traditions show us something profound—how small acts of remembrance and creativity can unite entire communities. Both began simply: Blinkies as a memorial, Christmas Balls as neighborhood decoration. Yet they grew into beloved regional attractions that bring people together during the holidays. They remind us that decorations aren't just about aesthetics—they're expressions of our shared celebration, our collective light.
One person's gesture of love, one neighbor's creative spark, can spread through a community like magic. Together, we create something greater than ourselves.
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The holidays often bring that familiar worry: "I need to get everyone something, but I have no resources." Yet gifts don't come from money—they come from understanding, from spending time thinking about someone deeply. There's no universal formula; each gift's value depends on its context and meaning.
Sometimes the most precious gift is written words that speak to someone's heart. Maybe it's preparing their favorite meal with care and attention. Maybe it's creating something that makes their daily challenges a little easier to bear.
Think about those conversations where someone's face lit up over something small. Remember the quiet moments when they shared what matters to them. Luxury items are nice, but we aren't limited by our budgets in showing people they matter.
Create a checklist for someone who needs organization. Design a guide for tasks they find challenging. Think about them the way you hope others think about you. Treat people with the kindness you wish to receive—and then add a little more.
These small actions of care become memories. We become part of someone's story just by choosing to be kind. Do the little things—they add up to something greater than we imagine.
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This week, I find myself staying late on campus, reflecting in the quiet moments. School has always been a sanctuary—a place where potential and wonder live in the smallest details. I see it in the study groups huddled together during finals, in the faculty member doing puzzles in an almost empty student center, in the way we all hold onto each other's kindness when we're running on empty.
There's something about being here that matters deeply to me. Being able to make a difference, even in small ways, gives purpose. It reminds me that in a world that often demands perfection, there's still room for genuine care and connection.
Because that's what matters most—the courage to keep caring, to keep trying, to keep believing in the light of community even when the world feels heavy. Sometimes the brightest lights come from the simplest things—a genuine smile, a moment of connection, an offering of kindness when someone's running on empty.
This holiday, I wanted to share a story of something more.
I know three souls who showed me what pure love looked like, each in their own way. One had the biggest heart I've ever known—someone who would stop at stranger's houses just to tend their overgrown yards, never asking for payment. They worked hard at everything but worked even harder when it was for others. Even when love overwhelmed them, even when it hurt, they chose to keep giving. Money was never their obstacle—kindness was their currency.
Then there were two spirits who taught me about finding joy in the simplest things. One was whole and playful, always wagging their tail, finding delight in moments others might miss. They just wanted to be okay, to spread happiness wherever they went. The other had this way of greeting everyone with a big grin, rolling over in welcome. They saw every house as home, every person as family if given half a chance. Their love was boundless, their joy infectious.
These souls taught me that love isn't about perfection—it's about choosing to care even when it's messy, even when it hurts. It's about doing random acts of kindness without expecting anything in return. It's about wagging your tail even on hard days, about seeing family in strangers, about working harder for others than yourself.
What strikes me most now is how their kind of love ripples outward, touching lives in ways we might never fully know. Like those free yard work jobs—how many people smiled at their newly cleaned yard without knowing the heart behind it? How many felt cared for by that simple act of kindness?
In this season of lights and warmth, maybe that's what we need to remember—that every small act of love matters. That choosing to care, even when it's hard, even when it breaks our heart, it makes the world a little brighter. Because to be hurt is to have loved something real.
And despite everything, I choose love. Every time.
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Our region offers so many ways to experience holiday magic. From Tanglewood's Festival of Lights to the historic charm of Old Salem's Moravian traditions, each destination holds its own special wonder. Reynolda Village transforms into a holiday haven, with its gardens, historic buildings, and shops creating an atmosphere of timeless celebration.
Free spaces welcome everyone—Tanger Family Bicentennial Garden glows with winter lights while the Greensboro Arboretum offers peaceful winter walks. Each location tells its own story of community and tradition, especially welcoming to students who might be far from home during the holidays.
For GTCC students and faculty, many venues offer special rates and times. Bring your school ID, watch for free admission days, and consider grouping visits to make the most of your time. There are apps and websites, too, such as Student Beans, which has a directory of all the free things you can delve on into. These spaces aren't just attractions—memories have a chance to take root here, so bring friends along and enjoy the downtime together.
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This holiday season, I challenge you to look more closely at the quiet moments of connection around you. They're happening in study rooms late at night—in faculty offices where professors take time to solve puzzles or finish up final grading—in the way we hold space for each other during difficult times.
Create your own traditions. Reach out to someone who sits alone. Share your stories, your creativity, your kindness. Build bridges between different groups on campus. Remember that every great community tradition started with one person choosing to care, to create, to connect. Because that's what makes our community strong—not the grand gestures, but the small moments of genuine connection. Of just being real with everyone as we should be with ourselves. The choice to see each other, to support each other, to believe in the light we create together.
So, please choose love. Every time.
Happy Holidays.
Alyssa Parker