I have a confession to make: I don't like the holidays. Now before you start picturing EXHIBITOR's writers blowing on their fingers to stave off chilblains, please know that I'm no Scrooge. It's just that layering endless lists of endless holiday obligations on top of the impossible "having it all" standard so many of us suffer under makes me want to pull the covers over my head.

Of course, there are aspects of the holidays I adore. The scent of baking. Twinkle lights. A roaring fire, a good book, and a pair of cozy slippers on my feet while my sparkly stilettos gather yet another layer of dust in my closet. I guess my holiday aesthetic leans more hygge than hectic. Perhaps my whole approach to life does.

And I know I'm not alone. I recognize my fellow hygge-hounds on the show floor even during the height of a Vegas summer. The ones with a ready smile, a firm handshake, and the right amount of eye contact. The same ones who collapse in their hotel room at the end of the day to stare at a wall. In an industry that thrives on connection, these are the folks who can sometimes feel disregarded by colleagues or even needlessly exhausted by their career demands.

I think the industry recognizes us, too. Without ignoring the most important folks at the center of our DEI focus, it seems the definition of diversity is expanding to include more than skin color, gender, and cultural background. I'm beginning to hear people talk about diversity in terms of different learning styles, invisible disabilities, and unique ways of approaching the world. Although my most fervent hope is that we don't become so inclusive that the truly excluded become even more so, it's heartening to see the conversation turn toward outreach and compassion rather than insisting that we all simply buck up. And the trend of quiet rooms at convention centers is exciting. Because I think it's a waste to expend energy trying to force our beautifully jagged selves into the round hole that a career often provides.

As a writer, my job is to listen. And being trusted by so many of you that you're willing to share your inner thoughts with me is an honor I don't take for granted. When I ask one of you what you want to learn about running an effective trade show program, you often tell me instead what you need to survive. Some of you say, "I need to connect with others, but it's awkward for me." "Can you help me hack my time so I feel less stressed?" "How do I fit self-care into a grueling travel schedule without ignoring the needs of my family?"

My commitment to you is that in the new year, our writers will tackle these philosophical and all-important topics. Not at the expense of the nuts-and-bolts pieces that are the hallmark of our publication, but in addition to them.

We're ending the year strong with exactly the type of how-to content our audience has grown to rely on. Don't miss Betsy Earle's practical advice on bringing audiovisual elements into your booth, particularly her suggested questions to ask your AV vendor. They're worth cutting out and thumbtacking to your corkboard. And we're so proud – as always – of our Exhibit Design Awards section. From a Bop-It-style game to colorful commodes, there's nothing to pooh-pooh from this year's winners.

But as we look to the future, expect more advice on finding balance while honoring the unique and very human contributions you bring to your role. Because whether you're squeezing more seconds out of your day, figuring out where the line between warm eye contact and psychopath lies, or learning about self-care (Hint: It's a lifestyle, not the gummy bears in the hotel mini bar.), we want you to feel seen. And when you're in your quiet hotel room – finally blissfully alone – know that you're not. We're a close-knit industry. Let's be a community.E