Christmas has always been a season of coming home. For a long time, that meant flying from New York or driving from Chicago back to Fort Dodge. I would walk in the door, drop my bags, and find my dad sitting on the couch with his hand on the remote, already impatient for me to put my stuff away so we could start watching “The West Wing” together. That was our thing. It didn’t matter how long the drive was or how tired I was. The tradition started as soon as I sat down.

When I moved back to Iowa in 2014, coming home meant something different. My dad was living with Parkinson’s, and I knew I needed to be closer. I needed to show up for him in a way I couldn’t from half a continent away. So I packed up a U-Haul in Brooklyn and started the long drive west. I had a lot of time to think on that trip. I thought about who I wanted to be. I thought about what parts of my life I wanted to leave behind in New York and which parts I hoped to build on once I got back to my hometown. I thought about how much of life comes down to choice. I chose to take a step back in order to take a step forward. I chose to be the best version of myself that I could. I chose to come home.

Home for the holidays looks different now. My dad’s no longer with us. My living room is quieter. I watch “The West Wing” on a streaming service, not a DVD. Even so, those moments stay with me. Slowing down. Togetherness. The reminder that showing up is often the most important thing we ever do.

Life here is slower in some ways and boy is it busier in others. I don’t miss the long commutes, but I do still walk like I am playing chess four blocks up. My time is filled with community events, county responsibilities, and family.

I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Coming home gave me the chance to be part of something real. Something grounded. Something that feels an awful lot like purpose.

Wherever this season finds you, I hope it brings a moment of joy and a moment of peace. I hope you feel connected to the people who matter to you, whether they are in the living room or living on in your memories. And I hope you feel the comfort of knowing that coming home can mean many things. Sometimes it’s a place. Sometimes it’s a person. Sometimes it’s a choice to start again.

Merry Christmas, Webster County. Thanks for being the place I chose to come home to.

Niki Conrad is the chairwoman of the Webster County Board of Supervisors.