Holding the Line

I’m entering 2026 without goals. Not because I lack direction, but because I know what I need.

I need steadiness. I need fewer outcomes to chase and more solid ground beneath my feet. I need space to operate without urgency, without constantly asking what comes next.

After months of sustained decision-making, adaptation, and emotional labor, achievement is no longer the measure I am reaching for. This year is not about pushing forward. It is about standing steady.

The image I keep returning to is a line. It isn’t a finish line or a dividing line. It’s a steady, horizontal place to stand.

To understand why that line matters so much to me, I have to look back at the year that brought me here.

The beginning of 2025 was full. Creative work that stretched me and reminded me why I love what I do. Time with people who know me deeply, including a rare visit with my best friend that felt grounding in a way only a long history can. We celebrated milestones that carried real weight. Brynn graduated, raised and sold her lamb at auction, and began college, each step a moment of pride and awe at how quickly life moves. Rick turned 50, surrounded by friends and family who traveled from afar to celebrate him. These were bright moments. Earned moments. Moments that anchored the year in meaning.

Alongside that fullness came responsibility.

There were professional shifts in a place I care deeply about. Seasons that required presence more than control. I focused on what I could do well, stayed grounded in my values, and continued to show up with consistency, even when outcomes were not mine to manage. I learned how to remain level in environments I could not stabilize.

Then summer marked a turning point.

Some moments divide a year into before and after. For us, that moment came with a house fire that displaced us overnight. The ground disappeared abruptly, and with it the sense of predictability we didn’t realize how much we relied on. Familiar routines were replaced with temporary spaces that never quite felt settled. From July through early fall, life felt temporary and unsettled. Even our dog, Titus, reflected that disruption. Loud noises startled him. He flinched more easily. Trauma has a way of showing up quietly, long after the initial moment has passed.

At the same time, life at home was shifting in quieter, more personal ways.

One child stepped into independence sooner than we were ready for, asking us to trust before we felt fully prepared. Pride and grief lived side by side as we watched her thrive in ways we hadn’t planned for so soon. Another child has entered her senior year, and suddenly everything feels like preparation. Graduation on the horizon. Big decisions unfolding. We find ourselves standing at the edge of an empty nest while still rebuilding a sense of home.

I started therapy earlier in the year, and that work shaped how I moved through everything that followed. Not because it fixed what was broken, but because it taught me how to pause. How to respond instead of react. How to stay connected to myself when circumstances feel unsettled. I learned that calm is not passive. It is intentional.

Which brings me back to the line.

The line represents levelness. It is steady ground, not because everything is resolved, but because I am choosing where to stand. It is the space where I pause before responding, where I resist tipping into urgency or collapse. It reminds me that not every situation requires a reaction, and not every challenge requires more effort.

The line will matter when family transitions stir emotion and clarity isn’t immediately available, when decisions arise, and I feel the pull to rush simply to feel relief, and when work feels heavy and I notice the urge to manage what isn’t mine to carry. It reminds me that I don’t need to anticipate or absorb other people’s reactions in order to stay steady. It gives me space to wait, to listen more carefully, and to trust myself even when the next step isn’t clear.

As 2026 unfolds, I will return to the line as often as I need to.

When things feel loud, I will pause there. When expectations press in, I will stand there.

Steadiness is not something I’m chasing this year. It’s something I’m choosing.