Today is my first day back at work after being off for the past two weeks for the holiday break. The museum and campus have been closed since Christmas Eve, and I also took the entire week of Christmas off to go home to Alabama. It’s been a rare stretch of unbroken rest—especially at night. For two weeks, I slept deeply and easily, the kind of sleep that makes you forget how precious it actually is.

Of course, when I really needed a good night’s sleep, it didn’t happen.

I went to bed early last night, partly because I’ve had a severe migraine for three nights in a row. I fell asleep quickly, but around 1 a.m., a strange noise woke me up. Normally, I’d assume it was Isabella on a feline overnight prowl, but she was sound asleep on top of me—and the noise startled her awake too. It sounded like a woodpecker in slow motion, or something cracking through ice. I looked out the window but couldn’t see anything. After a trip to the bathroom, I went back to bed, but the noise continued, and sleep came only in fragments for the rest of the night.

That made it especially hard to get up when Isabella began her determined campaign at 4 a.m. to remind me that breakfast exists. I managed to fend her off until about 5:15, but anyone with a cat knows that once you’re half-awake like that, real sleep is pretty much over. I spent that time suspended in that strange in-between state—neither fully asleep nor fully awake—aware that the day ahead was going to be a bit of a slog.

It’s currently –1 degree outside, which means the car will take some convincing before it’s warm enough to be tolerable. To add to the ambiance, I was notified yesterday that the heat in the museum hasn’t been working properly and it was hovering around 60 degrees. The system is controlled from another building, and while facilities has been notified, even if something has been adjusted, it takes time for a large, cold building to warm up—especially when it’s this cold outside.

Thankfully, I have an illicit little space heater under my desk, so I should at least be able to keep my office reasonably warm. Today will likely be spent catching up on emails, untangling the loose ends that always pile up during time away, and easing myself back into the rhythm of work.

It’s not the most graceful return, but it’s a return nonetheless. Some days are about productivity. Others are about endurance. Today feels firmly in the latter category.

January 2 has always felt more honest to me than January 1. Usually though, it means returning to work. Thankfully, with today being a Friday, that isn’t the case.

The first day of the year comes with noise—fireworks, declarations, promises shouted into the dark. January 2 arrives more softly. The calendar has turned, but life hasn’t quite rushed back in yet.

I’m easing into the morning with a cup of coffee, enjoying the stillness before the day really begins. Now that Isabella is fed and has settled back into her post-breakfast routine, I’m seriously considering returning to my warm bed for a little while longer. It’s currently 0 degrees outside my window, and that feels like a perfectly reasonable plan.

I’m not feeling the need for big resolutions or sweeping declarations. Right now, this moment—quiet, warm, and unhurried—feels like enough. The year is new, but there’s no rush to sprint into it.

If anything, I’m reminding myself that beginning gently is still beginning. Rest counts. Taking things one day at a time counts. Listening to what your body and mind need—especially in the depths of winter—counts.

So if today feels slow or unremarkable, that’s okay. January 2 doesn’t demand anything heroic of us. Sometimes the best way to welcome a new year is with a warm bed, a fed cat, and the knowledge that there’s time.

I hope your year is starting in whatever way you need it to.

I’ve never been very good at New Year’s resolutions.

They tend to be loud promises made on tired days, full of enthusiasm and thin on mercy. By the end of January, they often feel like little failures stacked neatly on a calendar page. That’s not how I want to enter a new year.

This year, I’m thinking less about resolving and more about remembering.

I want to remember to be kind—to strangers, to colleagues, to the people who frustrate me, and especially to the people I love. Kindness doesn’t mean being passive or silent, but it does mean choosing generosity over sharpness when I have the option.

I also want to work on my temper.

That’s not easy to admit. I don’t lose it constantly, but when I do, it’s usually because I’m tired, overwhelmed, or feeling unheard. I don’t want to be someone who reacts first and reflects later. I want to pause, breathe, and respond with intention. That kind of change doesn’t happen overnight—but it does happen, moment by moment.

And yes, I want to keep moving forward with my health.

Not as punishment. Not as a resolution that demands perfection. But as an ongoing commitment to my body and my mental well-being. I’ve already made real progress, and I want to continue—not because I “should,” but because I feel better when I do. Stronger. Clearer. More at home in myself.

I’m not promising I’ll work out every day.

I’m not promising there won’t be setbacks.

I am promising to keep showing up.

Scripture says, “The path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, which shines brighter and brighter until full day” (Proverbs 4:18). Dawn doesn’t rush. It doesn’t apologize for being gradual. It simply keeps coming.

That’s how I want to move into this year—not with grand declarations, but with small, steady steps. Choosing kindness when I can. Choosing calm when I remember. Choosing health as an act of care, not control.

A new year doesn’t require a new version of me.

It just invites me to keep becoming—one ordinary, honest day at a time.

And that feels not only attainable, but hopeful.

🍾Happy New Year!🥂