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As yet another new year dawns, I want to write about something that I haven’t quite done yet.
This month, I wanted to write about something I am slowly shifting toward.
What’s changed is not my calendar—but my orientation.
January is when people make resolutions about productivity, health, and ambition. But a family member said something incredibly profound a few months back that I have been sitting with and mulling over. He said that no matter what, he always shows up for a funeral.
And no, please don’t think I am being depressing or a Debbie Downer, starting my first story of 2026 by writing about death and funerals. I mean, in a way, yes, I am. But this is also one of the most life-affirming stories I have written. So bear with me.
What I think my family member meant was to always show up for people during the worst moments in their life.
And that makes sense, doesn’t it?
Weddings, birthdays, launches, promotions, baby showers—we rush to celebrate these occasions with our friends and family. We show up where joy is loud and visible.
But when someone is undone, grieving, hollowed out, we hesitate. We don’t know what to say. We worry about awkwardness. So we disappear exactly when presence matters most.
That’s why my resolution for 2026 is to show up better when it counts.
I will try to no longer outsource discomfort to silence. I will learn to sit with people when there is nothing to celebrate.
And already, I see a tangible shift in my outlook. I still plan for events that announce themselves loudly. A 27-year-old niece’s possible wedding. A newlywed cousin having a baby. An excited aunt getting that coveted promotion at work. I made myself available for these moments because they are celebrations we circle in red on calendars months in advance.
And I will continue to keep myself open to them, happy to attend if I can. That hasn’t disappeared.
But now, something quieter has taken root.
I have started scanning my life differently. Not morbidly. Not anxiously. But realistically. I am noticing who is aging. Who is unwell. Who might someday need someone to show up when the room is sparse and the air is heavy.
I am not predicting loss. I am acknowledging its inevitability. And instead of turning away from that truth, I am gently preparing myself to meet it.
I am readying myself.
Readying to sit with my discomfort.
Readying to rearrange my life when joy is absent.
Readying to be present when there is nothing to celebrate and nothing to fix.
I am not rejecting happy occasions. I am simply no longer organizing my emotional energy around them.
Joy, I have realized, finds witnesses easily. Grief does not.
And maybe this is what growing into the next chapter of life looks like. Learning to prioritize being where love is most needed, not just where it is most visible.
Happy 2026, everyone!
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