Gently does it
Not so fast, 2026; I'm in no rush
Hello, you. Happy New Year!
I’m typing this from one of my favourite neighbourhood cafes on the third day of January. The place is bustling in that not-too-busy way that makes for the perfect background noise. The winter sun is shining directly onto my table from the window, threatening to force me into putting my shades back on (but I shan’t). I’ve just been handed a small bowl of hot, salty fries and a decaf almond latte – my favourite order when I’m here with my laptop.
And I feel, finally, ready to contemplate 2026, and put pen to paper some words on a page.
This is one of my favourite New Year’s rituals, an attempt to start as I mean to go on, carving out time to write and romanticise writing.
I go back to work in two days, so I’m soaking up the remainder of this little limbo we find ourselves in. Liam and I are fortunate enough to get a large chunk of leave at this time of year, and we’ve enjoyed two weeks of scooting across the country between families and hosting friends and loved ones, with a handful of days scattered in between for much-needed recovery and time together.
Special mention for the horrible cold/flu that scuppered the first few days of our break, consigning me to bed and almost rendering me too poorly to celebrate the big day (but relenting enough for me to be full of bunged-up joy come Christmas morning – which we welcomed frosty-nosed on a North Devon seafront beneath sapphire skies).
We’ve played board games and card games, croaked through carols, stomped across sodden beaches and through calming forests. We’ve drunk just enough, eaten plenty, and driven miles between our respective hometowns with Ellis and John for company.
I’ve read less than I’d like, and written nothing but this. We’ve cheered on Aladdin and cuddled up in the cold. We’ve entertained and been entertained, and filled our cups enough to last us through the hibernation that often happens in the first month of the year, for reasons entailing both energy levels and bank balances.
And now, for the next chapter. That strange-shaped date which takes some getting used to.
I’m a firm believer that fresh starts, if you want them, don’t have to happen in the first few weeks. They can take their time – as explored here in my first-ever post on Substack in the early weeks of 2024:
To my delight, my Instagram feed this year so far has been full of people posting about waiting until Spring strikes to truly take action on the year ahead (like David Gates’ wonderful poem below).
After all, we are still in winter: a time for hibernation and contemplation, planning and prepping. I’m not sowing any seeds for my garden just yet – not until the ground warms a little, and I have some idea of what I want my flower beds and veg planters to offer me in abundance later on.
And, likewise, I’m holding off on sowing seeds for life.
That’s not to say I’m not chomping at the bit to figure out and share my hopes and aspirations, my ‘ins and outs’ for 2026. I’m excited about this fresh page. I can never resist a new notebook; the perpetually uncool teen within me is still a sucker for the promise of reinvention and refinement.
But I haven’t really given it all enough thought to commit just yet. On a practical level, I have some decisions to make first – ones that could shape the next few months, and shake things up. Equally, there’s a good chance that nothing will change at all.
And it goes without saying that I could really use some time to digest 2025, too. I’m not desperate to let the last year go just yet. What a waste that would be!
I made myself the usual ‘year in review’ reel on Instagram earlier today, which meant hours of scrolling through clips and snapshots from the last twelve months, and I came away, as always, astonished by how much we manage to fit in. I want to really reflect and take stock of the life I’ve lived, and bask in the fortune I find myself gifted with.
It’s only the third day of January. What’s the rush?
For now, I’ll enjoy the last couple of days of calm before routine, with its duality of stability and endlessness, makes itself at home again.
So, once more, Happy New Year to you!
Whether you’re welcoming it with open arms, keen to leave the last one in the dust, or inviting it in with trepidation, wary of what it means for you, I hope the inevitable oncoming days, weeks and months bring you exactly what you need.
And thanks, as always, for reading.
Wholeheartedly agree with every word of this Jo. It's been lovely to use these first few days of January to slowly ease into the year, not without hopes and intentions for 2026, but with an acknowledgement that there is no need to cultivate a new version of oneself or to rush into anything.