We continue
Some words for 2025, some more for 2026.
I didn’t write a word or resolutions for 2025, and I regret it.
I wanted to. Everyone’s got their own relationship to this arbitrary turn of a Gregorian calendar page, but a reflection/resolution is a practice that I’ve cultivated and loved in the years since I lost my Dad suddenly on New Year’s Eve in 2014.
But, as it does, life got away from me, and it suddenly felt too late.
Suddenly, it was February & I was on my fourth flight in two weeks.
Suddenly, it was March & I was performing before suddenly I contracted COVID.
Suddenly, it was August & I was on top of Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Suddenly, it was October & I was dancing in a white gown.
Suddenly, it’s 2026 & I’m wondering how to put last year into words.
I keep trying to find the right metaphor or story to paint the picture, but the end result is that 2025 just doesn’t feel like mine. It happened to me, or someone quite like me. I moved from crisis to convalescence, reacting by the minute, the hour, the day.
Don’t get me wrong, the bright spots were so bright. Renewing my vows on our 5 year anniversary as the bride I never thought I’d get to be was up there with my wedding for the happiest day of my life.
But so much of the rest was…disappointing. I spent it grappling with an insidious blend of depression, burnout, loneliness. They all fed, echoed, and rhymed with each other. I spent so much of the year asking for what I thought I needed or wanted, waiting for a series of somethings. And it’s left me here at the end with frayed nerves, trust issues, and the blank page of a new year asking me what I want it to be.
My favorite piece of art of last year is also now one of my favorites of all-time. It’s a breathtaking story about grief, hope, art, and meaning.
The premise is one of my favorite fantasy premises I’ve read in awhile.
Each year, a ghostly woman appears to paint a number on a distant mountain.
Each year, the number decreases by one.
Each year, anyone of that age dies.
And each year, a group of people who know their number is next embark on an expedition to find and stop her from wiping out all of society. We enter the story on the day The Paintress will appear to paint her next number: 33.
Everything about the story, the world, the characters bursts forth from this premise. How might your values change if you knew how long you had left? How might you approach death if it was something we all faced together?
An early scene in the game encapsulates this perfectly. It’s about 2 minutes long from where this link starts you. This also has a full cinematic version of the game if you’re so inclined!
When I think about the lessons 2025 taught me, they’re all in this game.
Hope is a choice.
The stories we tell ourselves shape our reality.
Tomorrow comes, for better and for worse.
We must continue, for us and for those who come after.
Personally, I don’t view resolutions as a way to transform my life in January (winter is for rest), but rather as a way to let go of the year that was & to give myself an anchor going forward.
My word for 2026 is cultivate.
Cultivate & tend to the relationships that matter the most to me.
Cultivate new skills & knowledge with curiosity.
Cultivate the life I want & the habits to support that life.
And prune away anything that’s holding those things back.
I want to face each coming tomorrow with resolve. To continue intentionally.
And to pave a path for the me—the us—that comes after.
Some other mantras/things I’m taking into the new year with me:
Close your loops. I saw this idea on Threads—spend time finishing (or actively deciding not to finish) things you’ve been meaning to do. This advice has been massive for my ADHD brain already.
Use the good stuff. Today, I cracked open a beautiful spiral-bound notebook to write my to-do list instead of saving it for some secret occasion.
You’re worth the time it takes to be bad at something. This podcast episode with Mercury Stardust & Sam Sanders really rocked my world this week—part basic home maintenance advice, part life advice to cut through the people-pleasing perfectionist paralysis.
Seriously, winter is for rest. Everything in biology, ecology, spirituality, mythologically tells us that winter is a slower time for hibernation & rest. Give yourself permission to do the same.
I hope 2026 is taking a deep breath with you today. I hope you give yourself something to look forward to, and hope you find a chance to be still.
Tomorrow comes, and we continue. Together, always.
Christine