2026: Are We All Just Chasing a Feeling?
As we enter the deepest part of winter in the northern hemisphere, I find it’s a good time to slow down and take stock. I’ve been reviewing my finances, my work and school schedules, and the long list of upcoming tasks. I’ve also been plotting a fun—but frugal—2026.
My post–nursing school bucket list includes:
Binge-watching PBS period pieces (Wolf Hall!)
Enjoying leisurely lunches with friends and family
Planning an actual vacation where I leave the state of Maine—not just a few days off from classes
Organizing my cupboards (for reasons I can’t fully explain, I’ve been longing to do this all year)
Trying new seasonal recipes
Creating a new painting every month
Reading a new book every month (recommendations welcome)
But the thing I’m most looking forward to in 2026 is simplifying my life and no longer having to balance work and school. I long for the days when I’m not studying, or thinking about studying, or feeling guilty that I haven’t studied enough. The closer I get to the end of my nursing program, the more I fantasize about the glorious, simple, cottage-core life waiting for me on the other side.
And then, all at once, I have to remind myself that what I have right now is good. That it’s okay to be happy, content, even joyful in the present, even if life feels messy. I don’t need to delay my happiness until some mythical endpoint where all my stressors politely pack up and leave me alone among my flower beds and journals. Because that day is not coming.
There will always be something to worry or fret about. At least for me—because that’s how I’m wired. Maybe it’s because I’m an eldest daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter (the trifecta). Or maybe my tendency to overthink stems from past trauma I’m only now able to start processing.
Whatever the reason, I’ve spun this tale in my head before: Life will be great when… That way of thinking is deeply ingrained in my psyche—I could walk it blindfolded. But I’m old enough now to know that I cling to bright, shiny futures not because they’re true, but because they’re familiar. And familiarity feels safe.
It’s easy to outsource our joy to the future. To hide in planning mode when what we really need is action. As long as we idealize what could be, we miss out on what is. And friends, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to let go of that old way of thinking.
If you want to simplify your life, it probably requires action—not just thoughts. Want your home to be easier to care for? You likely need to declutter. Want to get your finances in order? You have to sit down and make a budget. Tired of feeling like you’re spinning your wheels? You may need to be honest with yourself about what’s working, a little less honest about what you wish were working, and move accordingly.
For me, the life I long for often feels perpetually just out of reach—I can almost brush it with my fingertips. And while I’ve gotten better at taking action and rethinking what happiness and peace actually look like, there are still days when I feel frustrated that I’m grappling with the same old problems. But maybe that’s just life. Isn’t there always something—or someone—that becomes a thorn in your side? If I’m not careful, I could easily fritter away the rest of my days waiting for perfection.
And maybe the work, now, is this: learning to stop waiting. To stop treating peace like a reward I’ll earn later, once I’ve finished becoming who I think I’m supposed to be. Maybe a simpler life doesn’t arrive all at once on the other side of an ending, but in small, imperfect choices made right here—while things are unfinished, while I’m still learning, while the cupboards are half-organized and the future remains unknowable. Maybe this moment, messy and incomplete as it is, is already asking me to stay.
Do you ever feel like you are chasing a life that always feels out of reach? What helps you stay grounded in the present, while still looking forward to the future?