This Year Me

she's my favorite

New-Years-me is hands down the best version of me you will ever get. December 30th me is always done. She’s the Britney Spears with a shaved head, wielding a golf umbrella version of me. Laundry everywhere, house a mess. Eating whatever is laying on the counter that counts as food. Eyebrows growing out of her middle eye lids. Emails unanswered. Texts by the hundreds. December me gives up. She waves the white flag, and she doesn’t feel one bit ashamed. She made it 365 days, and on top of that survived the annual onslaught of more stuff being dumped into her house in the form of holiday gifts. She wants to immediately arm bar the whole pile into the trash because she has no handle on the unbearable amount of stuff that already resides under her roof. She’s drowning in it, it owns her. How wildly cruel to add more.

But every year, at the stroke of midnight on January 1st, she somehow becomes a new person, at least in her head. Yes, she could not find time to do laundry two days ago (and yes, the laundry is still there), but now she is looking online at adult education classes. Maybe a painting class? That sounds fun. And although she ate nothing short of 15 no-bake cookies on the evening of December 31st, as of January 1st she no longer eats refined sugar. She is going to do everything right this year; answer all of the emails, feed a real breakfast to all of the children, contain all sarcastic replies when her husband asks her questions like “what did you do today.” She’s going to shave her legs at least every third day and not be the very last person to arrive at school pick up. She might even read the whole bible. Historically, she has never chronologically made it past Deuteronomy, but that is old-her. New-her is disciplined. She is not deterred by 44 years of knowing old-her. Did she pour the remaining crumbles of a bag of salt and vinegar chips into her mouth last week? Yes, but hush. We don’t even know that person anymore.

New-her has 6 books sitting on her nightstand, ready to roll, so she’s not drawn into the endless nighttime scrolling old-her used to occasionally find herself in. New-her went to Barry’s Bootcamp yesterday and smelled all the Sol Dejenario wafting from the bodies of girls half her age because Barry’s is hard, smelling Sol Dejanario is hard, but new-year-her can do hard things, even though one week ago she decided to bail on all remaining holiday parties because “it felt too hard.” New-her will get a six pack this year (I know, ha!), but seriously, a six pack. Even though she’s fairly sure her ab muscles are no longer attached to the whole of her body, she is going on a twenty year wedding anniversary trip this summer, and she will wear a bikini, and there will be visible ab muscles.

But mostly, she’s going to be chill. (Note: she’s never been described as being chill in her entire life.) But she’s going to remind herself often that life is short and worrying about stupid stuff is stupid. Even though old her tried to wake her up in the middle of the night last night (that biatch, it’s only been one day) to worry about an install she has next Thursday. Scram, get out of here, old-her. She’s going to look at the tremendous amount of work she has scheduled for the year as a blessing. That mindset will actually be easy after a slow 2025, she thinks. But she’s going to hold it all loosely. When she is ghosted or over ruled or misunderstood, she’s going to tell herself, “It’s ok. It’s not about you.” Because old her used to lay in bed awake when an architect would call to tell her to stay in her lane or a client suddenly stopped replying to emails all together. But not new-her. This-year-her is going to lean into the good work, the fulfilling relationships, and not waste energy fighting with the other.

And probably most exciting and least delusional, this year her is going to renovate her attic into two bedrooms and a shared bath for her girls because last year her saved her money (she’s not all bad). Although change breaks her heart, and having two girls in one room and two boys in the other and listening to their quiet whispers as they fall asleep at night is her literal parenting-dream come true, all four share the tiniest bathroom in the world. She knows when the girls become teenagers it will be madness. She’s already scared for her husbands at the thought of three periods in sync. Also, she has an indescribable desire to maximize her home’s potential in the event she needs to suddenly sell it. New and old her are always planning for the worst.

And last but not least, new-her is going to finally start working on a project she and her buddy Joseph Bradshaw discussed last year. A project called The History of Home, where together they interview and document the homes and lives of elderly home owners living in historic properties that appear ripe for demolition once their time there is done. Last-year-her laughed at the non-existent spare time this project would entail, but this year her, who cares about calendars, she has time. This year her will have time, so much time. Isn’t this-year-her just the best!?

Happy New Year, and the biggest of thank yous to the people who have purchased a subscription. I never in a million years thought people would pay to read what I write. Of all of my unachievable goals in 2026, developing this column into a paid-subscription-worthy publication is at the absolute top of my list.