There’s a particular kind of quiet that comes with the turn of the year.
Not the loud, glittery kind that insists on reinvention or resolution, but a softer pause. A moment to breathe, to look back without judgment, and to listen for what wants to come next. This year, I’m greeting the new year not as a blank slate to be filled, but as a continuation—a gentle threshold between what has been and what is becoming.

Last week, I wrote about cleaning as ceremony—about the way tending to our physical spaces can become a ritual of release, clarity, and care. As I move into this new year, I find that same spirit of ceremony extending inward. This season feels less about adding and more about honoring. Less about pushing forward and more about reclaiming energy, choosing alignment, and letting go of what no longer fits.

Honoring What Was

Before I turn toward intention, I want to pause with gratitude. This past year held complexity, growth, and quiet resilience. I experienced the tremendous loss of my brother and the weight of caregiver stress as I supported my aging parents through a series of medical challenges. Alongside that grief, there were moments of unexpected clarity. I began to see my parents more fully as human—able to release some of the expectations and emotional baggage I had been carrying about what they did or didn’t do, who they could or could not be, and what all of that meant for how I see myself. There were seasons of expansion and seasons that asked for rest. And through it all, there was learning—about myself, about leadership, and about what it means to live and work in ways that feel more honest.

Some of what I’m grateful for this past year includes:

• A deepening relationship with my own body and nervous system—learning to listen more closely to what I need, especially during periods of grief and caregiving
• The courage to ask harder, more honest questions about how I want to live and work, and what no longer feels sustainable
• Writing that felt true, even when it felt vulnerable or unfinished
• Conversations that reminded me I’m not alone in this longing for leadership, work, and relationships that are more humane
• The steady presence of people, routines, and practices that anchored me when things felt uncertain or overwhelming

Gratitude, for me, isn’t about glossing over what was hard. It’s about acknowledging what carried me through. It’s about noticing what sustained me—even when I didn’t realize it at the time.

Letting the New Year Be a Threshold

I’ve been thinking about the new year as a threshold rather than a starting line. Thresholds invite us to pause. They ask us to notice where we’re standing, what we’re carrying, and what we’re ready to set down before crossing over. This year, I’m less interested in grand resolutions and more curious about intentional release.

What am I holding out of habit rather than alignment?
Where am I expending energy that doesn’t return nourishment or meaning?
What would it feel like to protect my energy with the same care I offer others?

These questions feel more honest to me than a list of goals.

Reclaiming Energy as a Practice

One of my core intentions for this year is reclaiming my energy. That doesn’t mean doing less for the sake of doing less. It means being more discerning. More honest. More attuned to what supports my sense of purpose and power—and what quietly erodes it.

Reclaiming energy looks like:

• Saying no to forms of visibility that drain more than they give
• Letting go of the belief that I have to be everywhere to be effective
• Choosing depth over diffusion
• Designing my work in ways that support my nervous system, not override it

This year, I’m practicing alignment not as a one-time decision, but as an ongoing relationship—with my body, my values, and the work I’m here to do.

Choosing What Gets My Care

As I’ve been sitting with these questions about energy and alignment, I’ve noticed how often we’re taught to equate care with availability. To be caring is to be responsive. To be committed is to say yes. To be generous is to stretch ourselves thinner than we’d like. But this year, I’m gently questioning that equation.

What if care isn’t about how much we give, but how intentionally we give?
What if power isn’t about endurance, but discernment?
What if the most responsible thing we can do is choose where our care actually belongs?

Reclaiming energy has meant noticing the subtle ways I’ve been leaking it—often not through big, obvious commitments, but through quiet obligations I never consciously chose. Platforms that ask me to perform rather than reflect. Rhythms that pull me into reactivity instead of presence. Habits that once served a purpose but no longer feel true. Letting go of these things hasn’t felt dramatic. It’s felt quiet. Almost mundane. And yet, deeply relieving.

I’m learning that alignment doesn’t arrive all at once. It’s built through a series of small, honest decisions, made again and again. Decisions to listen when something feels heavy. To pause instead of push. To trust that doing less can sometimes create more space for what actually matters.

There’s grief in this, too. Letting go often means releasing versions of ourselves we worked hard to become. It means acknowledging that something that once fit no longer does. But there’s also freedom here. A widening sense of permission.

This year, I’m practicing care as a boundary as much as a value. I’m choosing not to equate visibility with worth, or productivity with impact. I’m choosing to let my work grow from steadiness rather than urgency, and to trust that what’s meant to reach others will do so through clarity, not force. This is not about shrinking. It’s about consolidating power, bringing my energy back home so it can be offered with intention, integrity, and care.

Naming What’s New (and What’s Staying)

As part of this alignment, I want to share a few gentle updates about how my work is evolving this year.

MyPeacein50 will continue as a weekly blog here on my website. This space remains personal, reflective, and rooted in somatic awareness, aging, and living with intention as I move through my fiftieth year.

Alongside this, I’m also beginning a new monthly writing practice focused specifically on leadership through Substack. This will be a monthly space where I write more deeply—longer reflections that explore leadership, responsibility, burnout, care, and what it means to lead without harming ourselves or others in complex systems. If you’re a leader, a caregiver, or someone navigating responsibility in emotionally demanding environments, this new space may resonate. I'll post my first article in mid-January and I'll share more in the coming weeks. 

New Year Practices (Gentle, Not Prescriptive)

Rather than resolutions, here are a few practices I’m carrying into this new year—shared not as instructions, but as offerings you might adapt in your own way.

1. A Gratitude Inventory

Not a list of accomplishments, but a quiet reflection on:

• What supported me?
• What surprised me?
• What am I thankful I didn’t push through?

I’ve found that gratitude softens the transition into intention.

2. An Energy Audit

Instead of asking, “What do I want to achieve?” I’m asking:

• What gives me energy?
• What depletes it?
• What feels neutral but necessary?

This helps me make choices that are sustainable—not just impressive.

3. Intention as Orientation

Rather than setting outcomes, I’m choosing words that orient me:

• Care
• Spaciousness
• Integrity
• Presence

I return to these when decisions feel unclear.

4. Release as Ceremony

Just as cleaning last week became a ritual of letting go, I’m also releasing:

• Roles I’ve outgrown
• Expectations that no longer fit
• The idea that growth has to be loud to be real

Release creates room for what’s next.

Carrying Care Forward

As this new year begins, I’m reminded that care isn’t passive. It’s a practice. A choice. Sometimes a boundary. Care asks us to listen more closely—to our bodies, to our values, to the quiet wisdom that knows when something is no longer aligned.

My hope for this year is not that it’s perfect or productive, but that it’s honest. That it allows room for rest, reflection, and meaningful work. That it honors the full complexity of being human in a world that often asks us to move too fast.

Wherever you’re standing at this threshold, I hope you can meet yourself with kindness—and step forward carrying only what truly belongs.

Next week, I’ll be writing about Creating a Calming Corner: a small, intentional space that invites pause, grounding, and nervous system support. Not as a design project, but as another form of care—one that reminds us we’re allowed to tend to our environments as a way of tending to ourselves.

What I’m Loving This Week

• Sound:
  The sound of pouring rain outside my window in the early morning. Living in San Diego, we often don’t get that much rain, so when we do, it’s an even greater gift and surprise.
• Practice:
  Before I undertake any new task, taking a quite moment inward to ask myself why I’m doing it, and if it serves my energy. If it doesn’t, seriously considering whether I should let it go.
• Tool:
  Light a candle not to set goals, but to mark transition. Sit with it for a minute and name one way you want to move through the coming season, not what you want to accomplish.
• Quote:
  “Let what matters set the pace.”
• Song:
  “New Year’s Day” – U2
  A steady, reflective anthem for transition—honoring what has been while quietly turning toward what’s next. A reminder that beginnings don’t have to be loud to be meaningful.