The best traditions etch themselves into your heart quietly over time without intention, I think. You do something and it’s great, so you do it again. Not because you want to do it forever, but because you want to do it just one more time. And then you do it one more time after that. Then, after a few years, you realize it’s worn a soft spot in your routine, like a gentle slope in the floor where people find themselves standing time and again as they step into the warmth of shelter. It’s not intentional. It just feels right.