Happy New Year! I can feel your slack-jawed eye roll from here. No, I have not been living under a rock for the past two months. Although that does sound nice. I am acutely aware we are eight weeks into DumpsterFire: 2026. So, let me explain. With the new year comes new hope. Resolutions are quietly made. The thought, “this year will be different,” may not be verbalized, but it is internalized. We keep our prayers silent, so when the familiar lack of follow-through presents itself, it’s not quite such a public disappointment. But here’s the thing – expecting to implement effective and sustainable life changes on January 1st is as logical as moving seats instead of washing the cups. It is almost guaranteed to be a setup for failure. New Year’s Day is still very much a part of the holiday season, and no one should ever attempt to recalibrate their life with a hangover – whether it be from booze, cheese, or the Christmas cookies that seemingly regenerate in the tupperware. Even after the fog of overindulgence has lifted, the post-holiday blues hit hard. I maintain that winter shouldn’t even exist without the glow of twinkle lights and the expectation of presents, but at this juncture, the only escape from the frozen hell of a Northeast January is a solid one-two punch of plane ticket and passport. This is an environment to survive, not to thrive.

For the most part, the same can be said of February. On the heels of Christmas recovery comes the need to dip dodge the expectations of Valentine’s Day. Whether single or romantically linked, very few of us actually get through the Hallmark holiday without some level of emotional scarring. February also holds a personal landmine for me. It’s my birthday. Ah, many of you may not know that, and that is by design. You’re probably saying to yourself, “Your birthday is the perfect time to celebrate the new year. It is truly YOUR NEW YEAR, the first day of your next trip around the sun!” And you would be right if you were talking about someone who found any joy in their birthday. I am not one of those people. My birthday serves solely as a reminder of all the things I haven’t done, and I now have one less year to do them. You would think mortality would be a compelling motivation to get my life together. I would think that, too. But alas, my yearly gift from me, to me, is that I allow myself to ride out the doldrums without any intention of goals or growth. I know more fertile ground is coming.

Because March, gloriously gloomy, completely inconsequential March, is primed for resolution. Apologies to all you March babies out there, but apart from your oh-so-special day (which I truly hope you enjoy!), this third month offers very little in the way of obligation or excitement. Particularly since I aged out of partying like everyone is Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day. The only other day of note is Daylight Saving Time, which just means I have an extra hour to feel moderately energetic. March is when I can finally stop white-knuckling it through forced holiday cheer, existential crisis, and seasonal depression. And that is why my “new year, new me,” starts on March 1st. Which is when I started writing this.

I’m not great (ok, I suck) at self-motivation and creating for creation’s sake, which is probably why I’m a self-proclaimed writer with a very thin portfolio. But damn, do I love a project! So, I’m going to do my best to let go of the notion that I always have to be my best. This recovering perfectionist is going to post something every Wednesday (Writing Wednesday – I’m a fool for alliteration), whether I happen to think it’s brilliant or not. I’m just making pots [what on earth does she mean “making pots?!” FIND OUT HERE] in my little safe space of the Internet. If there is such a thing. Hell, I should be so lucky if anything I ever write goes beyond my mom and three friends and actually reaches the trolls.

So come along with me for the ride, or don’t. In the nicest way possible, I don’t care. I’m writing for me, and putting it out into the world is my own little way of keeping myself accountable. I can guarantee that there will be no method to my madness, and in the off chance that some themes start to emerge, it is only due to dumb luck and may be a good indication of what I should explore with a licensed professional. Some weeks, I’ll talk about what is going on with me (a riveting subject to be sure). Maybe others, I’ll talk about what’s going on in the world – seems like there are a few things worth exploring there. And still other times will be more relatively trivial material – a review of the latest theatre or movie I’ve watched, a travelogue of the trip I haven’t planned yet. And, when all else fails, I have no less than a half dozen writing prompt books that have sat on my shelf, mocking me, while they collect dust. I also take requests if there’s a particular subject on which you’d like my hot take. Whatever the entry, I promise it won’t be any longer than the life story you have to read before getting to the six-step recipe you found. Now onward! With the muses and my waning attention span to guide me, I’ll see where the journey leads. One word at a time.