December Dopamine

What is it about December that stirs up so much wanting inside me?

It happens every year. The daylight shrinks, the calendar fills, the stores explode with glitter, and suddenly my brain begins whispering that I need… something. I don’t always know what the “something” is, but dopamine certainly does.

Dopamine, the tiny chemical messenger that is released when I have a thrill. As children we ran on dopamine from the first of December until ‘Santa’ came.

And in December—especially in the December of my life—dopamine becomes a little sneaky.

The Usual Suspects

I recognize the familiar dopamine traps.
Shopping, for instance.

I can get a tiny thrill just putting something in an online cart. I don’t even have to buy it.

Just the “add to cart” button gives me a microscopic burst of joy. (Amazon really should be paying my brain rent at this point.)

Then there’s sugar. The December kitchen has a gravitational pull all its own.

I can walk past the counter determined to ignore the cookies and somehow end up with one in my hand—occasionally two—without any recollection of how they got there.

And of course, the Hallmark movies. I know exactly how they’ll end, and yet dopamine still shows up like a hopeful guest at a predictable party.

“Maybe this one will surprise you!” it says. It never does. But dopamine doesn’t care.

The Sneaky Dopamine I Don’t Always Notice

What interests me now are the subtle dopamine boosts—the ones that sneak into December wearing soft slippers.

There’s the pleasure of anticipation, for example. In my younger decades, anticipation meant something bold: travel, parties, adventure.

Now the thrill often comes from simpler things—waiting for a card from a friend… or planning which book to read next… or pulling out the box of decorations I no longer display but still enjoy visiting, like old friends I don’t have to dust.

Then there’s the dopamine hit that comes from distraction. I can rearrange one corner of my living room and feel oddly triumphant, as if sliding a candle two inches to the left has restored order to the cosmos.

My brain loves this. My back does not.

And don’t underestimate the dopamine of ritual. Lighting a candle at dusk.

Opening the first page of a December journal. Using the same mug every morning because it “just feels right.”

These small comforts give the brain a tiny but satisfying spark, especially when the world feels unsettled.

In the December of Life

As I age, I notice how subtle and refined, almost polite, the dopamine is. It nudges me toward tiny sparks I might have dismissed years ago.

•A quiet morning with no obligations.
A familiar voice calling on the phone.
The rare and beautiful moment when both the cats are sleeping at the same time.

These aren’t fireworks.
They’re embers.
And honestly, they’re enough.

But here’s another thing: dopamine knows how to steer me away from deeper things in December.

I can fill a whole day with tasks that look meaningful but aren’t.
I can chase little bursts of pleasure to avoid sitting with the year’s harder questions.
I can scroll longer than I meant to, organize drawers that didn’t need organizing, or commit to holiday events I have no business attending.

Dopamine takes adavantage of the fact that I no longer have the energy reserves I once did. It still thinks I’m 27. I love its optimism… but it’s wrong.

When Dopamine Gets Pushy

I don’t want to make dopamine sound like a villain. It’s just a bit overeager—like a well-intentioned friend who keeps suggesting things I don’t actually want to do.

“Have another cookie.”
“No thank you.”
“Are you sure? It’s festive!”
“Stop helping.”

Or the classic: “You should reorganize the entire linen closet before the New Year”

This suggestion often arrives at 9:30 p.m., when I’m ready for bed. I don’t know why dopamine thinks I become a domestic goddess after dark.

December—the end of the year—can amplify this pushiness.
We want comfort, connection, meaning—and dopamine keeps tossing us the nearest shiny option, even if it doesn’t help at all.

But Dopamine Also Helps Us Thrive

Here’s the part I appreciate: dopamine isn’t just about craving.
It’s also about curiosity.

Dopamine is the little flicker that says:

Look at that.
Try this.
Pay attention.
There is something here for you.

It helps aging brains stay open, interested, alive to what’s possible. Even in hard years.
Even when the news is tense and the future uncertain. Even in the quiet December of my own life.

It keeps inviting me back to the world.

Three Ways I’m Learning to Manage My December Dopamine

These aren’t resolutions. I’ve grown suspicious of resolutions.
These are gentle practices… small ways to work with dopamine instead of letting it drag me around by the sleeve.

1. Notice the First Whisper

Before I click, scroll, commit, or start some unnecessary project, I try to catch the first whisper:

“Is this what I really want? Or am I just looking for a spark?”

Usually the pause is enough.
Not always. But usually.

2. Trade Empty Sparks for Nourishing Ones

I don’t scold myself for wanting the quick hits. I simply try to choose sparks that last longer.

Instead of shopping, I might write a short reflection in my journal.
Instead of scrolling, I step outside for five minutes.
Instead of busyness, I call someone who won’t mind hearing me sigh before I speak.

Dopamine loves novelty. I try to give it novelty that actually nourishes me.

3. Create One Ritual That Grounds Me

Just one.

I don’t need a full December routine. I need a single steadying practice.

A candle lit at first light.
A blessing whispered for someone I love.
A sentence written each evening—“Today I noticed…”

Small rituals satisfy dopamine and soothe the soul simultaneously.
A win-win.

A Closing Thought for the Month

Dopamine is not the problem.
It’s just enthusiastic… and occasionally misguided.
A little like me.

Even in winter, even in later years, dopamine whispers that we are still alive to beauty, still capable of wonder, still able to choose sparks that illuminate rather than exhaust us.

Perhaps that is enough for this season.

And if it isn’t, there’s always a candle to slide two inches to the left.

If this reflection spoke to you…

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