My two favorite things in life are love and Christmas. So, last year when I broke into screenwriting, my heart burst into snowflakes and cookie sprinkles. At once, I immersed myself in all things love and Christmas, and I encouraged everyone I knew to pursue their dreams, never give up, and to take a leap of faith. Seriously, I was lit up like Times Square. If the saying, “Won’t He do It!” was a person, that person was me.

But then . . . something happened.

While I was filled with gratitude, I was also flooded with complex feelings of guilt. My dream had come true; I was blessed. But, somehow I couldn’t settle into the blessing because the world was so dark. It was a kind of survivor’s remorse. Who was I to have joy when so many people were hurting? How dare I live my best life while others were in such pain. I minimized the dream and played down the amazing opportunity afforded to me. I got quiet and settled into my normal holiday traditions of decorating, eating cookies, and binge-watching the Hallmark Channel.

Then, my first Writer’s Guild of America holiday party arrived. I stepped into the venue as the photographers clicked and flashed their cameras. Someone grabbed my arm and whisked me in front of the step and repeat backdrop. “I’m new,” I said, holding my smile to a grin. “Welcome!” they cheered. I made my way into the main room, met a bunch of people, danced the night away, and dashed out just before midnight like a true Cinderella.

Loving the spectacle that is New York City during the holidays, I asked the driver to take me to Rockefeller Center. When we arrived, I stepped into the glow of the fifty thousand bright lights that draped the largest of all holiday expressions — the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. I gazed up at the tree topper, a star made with three million Swarovski crystals. That’s when it hit me. No matter what is happening in the world, the bright lights of Christmas shine every year.

A quiet, well-known song formed in my heart. At first I hummed, but then I sang just above a whisper:

“This little light of mine,
I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine…”

As I delighted in the shine of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree, my inner light twinkled. It was the joy of seeing those bright lights that reminded me I am a light, too.

God used those holiday lights to remind me to let my light shine in all I do — screenwriting included. I am a light for those who may be in dark times, for those who can’t see their way through it. You are, too. Our light is an encouragement to others. Our light is a gift, a treasure. It is not to be hidden beneath conformity, shame, or fear of judgment.

So, don’t dim your light, Sis. Shine! Let the world know that living an abundant life is not just a dream, it’s a real possibility.