I’m writing this because I can feel the year turning, and I want to mark how it began.
Intentionally.
January usually puts me in a state of feeling behind, or like I’m starting over.
This year is different.
I’ve already begun.
January is just carrying the momentum forward.
I’m writing to you from our bed at 11212 —
on it, not in it.
The candles are still on from last night, and the lamp without a shade casts a soft, necessary warmth across the room. The heater rumbles steadily in the background. Lilith has grown several new leaves and seems content where she is, even though I still want more sun for the both of us. She’s fine, though. Rooted.
The blow-up bed in the living room creaks as Courtney shifts her weight. She’s been staying with us for the past week. It’s been good having her here, but I’m overdue for some solitude.
It feels like the right place to mark the moment —
not because everything is clear,
but because it’s already underway.
This year isn’t about starting over.
It’s about staying with what’s already begun.
When you come back to this at the end of the year, I hope it reminds you how deliberately it began.
Because of that, there are a few things I hope have settled into place by now.
I hope you learned how to protect your peace, and didn’t apologize for it.
I hope you remembered how to have fun — the loud, unfiltered kind you have with your siblings — and learned how to access that joy on your own too.
I hope you stayed with this work — even when it unfolded more slowly than you expected. That you showed up consistently. That you didn’t abandon it.
I hope you let yourself be witnessed — not perfectly, but honestly — and allowed others to meet you where you actually were.
And I hope you remember this: You were never meant to do all of this alone.
Holding all of that, I want this year to feel different —
not louder or more demanding,
but more inhabitable.
This year is about living inside yourself fully — staying with what’s here, and releasing the need to be everything to everyone.
It’s about trusting that choosing yourself isn’t a gamble — it’s the surest investment you can make.
And because this year is being held that way,
I don’t want to manage how it unfolds.
I want to trust you inside of it.
I trust you to meet this year as you’ve met all the others —
with honesty, resilience,
and a growing sense of self-respect.
I trust you to stay present,
and to know when to move — and when to stay.
I trust you to make yourself proud —
and to know that it’s enough.
I trust you to be here.
And I trust you to let yourself be seen.
