A 35-Year-Old’s Passionate Plea to Santa Claus This Christmas

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Dear Santa Claus,

I know this letter might seem a little strange coming from a 35-year-old man. Perhaps you’ve seen hundreds of letters from young children, their words full of innocent hope and unshakable belief in you and the magic you bring. You’ve read their wish lists with care, fulfilled dreams that shaped their worlds, and left a trail of joy that lingered long after the gifts were opened. But here I am, writing to you from a place far different from the excitement and wonder of childhood. I’m no longer a child. I no longer believe in the man in the red suit who travels the world in a single night, delivering presents to every good child. I’m not naive enough to think that your sleigh flies across the sky, pulled by reindeer, that you live at the North Pole, or that your magical powers are real.

And yet, despite all that, I’m writing to you, because somewhere deep inside of me, there’s a quiet, unspoken wish that still longs to be heard. Somewhere, perhaps where the child in me still exists, I hold onto a hope that you will remember me. Not because I need gifts or material things, but because of the deeper, more personal reason that this tradition has always meant something to me, even as time and age have tried to steal away the magic.

Santa, I suppose that part of me wants to write this letter because I need to believe in something again. We live in a world that often feels cold, disconnected, and impersonal. It’s so easy to lose sight of the things that matter—the things that bring us together, the things that make life worth living. As we get older, the pressures of the world take their toll, and we begin to lose the sense of wonder and possibility that once filled us with joy. We get caught up in the grind, in the expectations, in the endless striving, and we forget what it feels like to simply hope for something good, something magical, something that feels bigger than us.

Maybe that’s what Christmas has always been about—the chance to pause, to reflect, and to tap into that quiet place where dreams still exist. It’s about kindness, about giving and receiving with an open heart. It’s about the belief that something beautiful can happen, even when the world feels heavy. And though I may no longer believe in your sleigh or reindeer, I still hold onto that spirit of Christmas, that sense of joy and connection.

Santa, I’m asking for a few things this year, though they may not be the typical requests you receive. First, I ask for kindness—for myself and for others. In a world that often feels divided, I want to remember the power of compassion, the ability to listen, and the importance of showing up for the people who need us the most. I ask for patience with myself and those around me. The road is long and difficult, and sometimes I forget that everyone is carrying their own burdens. I want to remember that we are all human, imperfect, and doing our best. I ask for strength—the strength to continue on when things get tough, to keep going when doubt and fear threaten to stop me in my tracks. I ask for the courage to take chances, to embrace the unknown, and to follow the path that feels true, even when it’s hard.

But more than anything, Santa, I ask for a reminder of the magic of life. Not the kind of magic that comes wrapped in shiny paper or tied with ribbons, but the deeper magic that lives in the way we treat each other, in the way we care for the world, and in the way we find joy even in the darkest moments. I know that this magic exists because I’ve felt it before, and I long to feel it again. I long to remember what it’s like to be excited by the possibility of something good, to feel wonder in the everyday moments, and to hold on to the belief that the world is a place full of love and light, even when it doesn’t always seem that way.

I’m not asking for toys, gadgets, or anything that can be bought or wrapped. I’m asking for the kind of gifts that cannot be seen, touched, or measured—gifts that only exist in the heart. Gifts like hope, love, peace, and connection. These are the things that matter most, the things that make life meaningful.

I suppose this is all to say that even though I no longer believe in you in the way I did when I was a child, I still believe in the spirit of Christmas. I still believe in the power of kindness and compassion. And I still believe in the possibility of magic—magic that comes from the simplest, most human of things. And so, even though I may not be the child who writes to you with a list of toys and wishes, I’m writing to you with a heart that still holds a place for that magic, that kindness, that love.

So, Santa, if you’re reading this, I ask that you remember me this year—not because I deserve anything special, but because the world could always use a little more kindness, a little more love, and a little more hope. I may be a 35-year-old man who doesn’t believe in the way I once did, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost the ability to hope, to wish, and to dream. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that we could all use a little more magic in our lives, no matter how old we are.

Thank you, Santa, for keeping the spirit of Christmas alive, for the joy you bring to the world, and for reminding us that no matter how much we grow or how far we travel, there’s always a little piece of magic left for those who believe.

With warmth and a heart full of hope, Shaun Zietsman aka The Something Guy