Dear Santa, Here’s What I Really Want This Year

A humorous letter about growing up, holiday wish lists, and how slowing down (maybe even writing letter) could make a difference

Dear Santa,

It’s been a minute. I hope you’re well, staying warm up there at the North Pole, and that Mrs. Claus hasn’t forced you onto any new supplements made of reindeer antlers.

I know this is your busy season, the time of year when you’re flooded with wish lists full of big gifts like AI glasses, VR headsets, and at least one kid who wants a flamethrower because he saw it on Stranger Things. (Good luck with that one.)

Meanwhile, here I am, a full-grown adult, realizing I haven’t written you a proper Christmas letter in decades. Probably because, historically, my requests have… varied. And also because I celebrate Hanukkah, which felt like a fairly solid reason to stop bothering you altogether.

Like when I was nine and all I wanted were new front teeth after losing mine in a bike accident. (I know the song makes it sound cute, but trust me, lisping through fourth grade was not adorable.)

Or when I was ten and asked you for a go kart (which, for the record, I still want.) I’m just responsible enough now to also want a helmet, elbow pads, and an attorney on standby.

At eleven, I begged you for a Walkman, because carrying around my pink boombox was falling out of fashion.

And lastly, when I was twelve what I wanted more than anything was a pair of Guess jeans, the kind the cool girls at camp wore while teasing me for not having them. (Santa, I’m still waiting for the confidence to not care what middle schoolers think.)

Cut to today, and I’m keeping my wishes simple. Not world peace (though if you’ve got that in stock, terrific), but peace on a smaller scale. A little more kindness between neighbors. The world feels like it’s spinning faster than any of us can keep up with, and everyone seems ready to argue before they try to understand.

As you know, tonight is the third night of Hanukkah, which is, after all, about bringing light into darkness, about hope, resilience, and choosing to keep going even when the world feels stacked against you. That idea feels especially relevant right now.

Two menorahs this year. Because a little more light never hurts.

As the grandchild of Holocaust survivors, history lives close to the surface in my family, and I’m especially sensitive to how quickly people can turn on one another. I grew up knowing that hatred doesn’t start big; it starts small. Which is why I believe small acts of humanity matter: words, kindness, connection.

Maybe, just maybe, if we slowed down long enough to write letters instead of firing off snappy, heated posts, we’d remember we’re all just people trying our best. I like to think peace starts in mailboxes and grows outward.

So, that’s all I’m hoping for this year. (And okay fine, if you want to throw in a go kart, I won’t stop you.)

Safe travels.

With Love (and a plate of gluten-free, oat milk chocolate-chip cookies you crave),
Felice

P.S. If you were to write a letter to Santa this year, what would you ask for? Let me know!

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Felice Cohen is an award-winning author, best known for squeezing big ideas into small spaces—like her 90-square-foot NYC apartment (yes, really). Her books include Half In: A Coming-of-Age Memoir of Forbidden Love, 90 Lessons for Living Large in 90 Square Feet, and What Papa Told Me, with praise from legends like Elie Wiesel and Rita Mae Brown. Her viral YouTube tour has racked up over 25 million views—mostly from people wondering where she kept her shoes. More at felicecohen.com.