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?
Turning of the Wheel: Samhain
Hello Friends,
Oh, how I’ve missed you. I hope this finds you warm and safe. Here in Western Maine, autumn is beginning its gentle fade toward winter. The vibrant orange and gold of early October have softened into shades of brown and gray. Leaves crunch underfoot, the air has turned crisp, and frost greets me in the mornings. Evenings are best spent cozy beside the woodstove.
So much has happened since I last wrote. Nursing school continues—I have one more class and my preceptorship left, and if all goes well, I’ll be a registered nurse by springtime. I’ve absolutely loved being in school, even though it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Still, I’ll be glad to return to the parts of life I’ve had to pause along the way.
This past year has been one of the most transformative of my life. I began nursing school, ended a decade-long relationship, watched my youngest child leave the nest, and spent a lot of time on my own—busy with studies, but feeling a bit empty in other ways.
Winter was quiet. Spring brought a renewed desire to get out, connect, and have a little fun again. Over the summer, I visited friends and family, managed a short vacation between work and classes, and even met someone who reminded me that it’s never too late to fall in love.
The Wheel Turns and a New Year Begins
Samhain marks the beginning of the Wheel of the Year—the midpoint between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice. The veil between worlds grows thin, and we may sense the presence of those who’ve gone before us. It’s the end of the harvest season, the final Celtic fire festival, and a time that carries a deep, quiet magic.
Samhain means different things to different people. You might celebrate in solitude or gather with friends. Create a small altar to honor loved ones, hold a dumb supper, or simply light a candle and sit with your thoughts. Cook something seasonal, take a walk beneath bare trees, and notice how the world is shifting.
The leaves fall. The air cools. Nature settles into its long rest.
Darkness and winter are coming, and a stillness begins to settle over everything. Birds fly south, animals retreat to their burrows, and the land exhales—one long, deep breath, letting go of summer.
The modern world rarely pauses for such things—but you can. Take a breath. Slow down. Acknowledge this sacred turning of the Wheel, and welcome the quiet beginning of a new cycle.
From My Desk
I’m between classes right now and wanted to take this opportunity to send you a note and a little printable. I hope you enjoy it. I’ll do my best to write more often as I near the end of my program.
Wishing you a happy and blessed Samhain, if you celebrate.
Mabon House is open—the printable library and Etsy shop are still available if you’d like to visit.
Take care, and I’ll see you soon.
Lorri
Mabon House
The Only Way Out is Through
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I’ve spent years waxing poetic about living in the present. About intentionality. About embracing the now.
But here’s the thing, friends: sometimes your now just... sucks. And it’s okay not to want to be in it. It’s okay to focus on the future instead.
Lughnasadh is coming up next week. I’ve been thinking a lot about cycles and seasons—how life moves whether we’re ready or not.
Over the past few months I’ve been learning more about the human condition, mostly by dipping a reluctant toe back into dating. Honestly? Not my favorite thing. I miss the familiarity of my old relationship. I miss the comfort of being with someone who already knew all my quirks—someone who understood that I.do.not.drink.coffee. Someone who could spell my first name correctly.
That’s the thing about old love: it’s easy to romanticize. Easy to see its imperfections as charm, like the patina on a vintage dish. It can make you forget why it ended. It can make you forget how painful it felt, being lonely inside a relationship. Because that kind of loneliness cuts deeper than the quiet I sit with now.
Dating has made me feel young, in a way. I’ve met interesting people: a fisherman, a retired police officer, a service dog trainer, veterans, people who moved here from cities. I’ve flirted. I’ve heard new stories. I’ve been reminded that there are so many different types of people right in our own backyard.
But I’ve also met people like me—emotionally dented and dinged. We all arrive with our baggage tucked neatly out of sight. We smile and talk the weather, pretending not to notice the matching scars we both wear.
One date even made it to a second round before leaving me with the smallest heartbreak—a paper cut instead of a wound, but pain is pain. And honestly? I’m tired.
I’m tired of giving my mental bandwidth to this. I don’t know how else to meet people at this stage of life. Dating apps? Meh. I’ve met some people, sure, but it feels like a numbers game. And while I know the more open I am, the more likely I’ll find someone who fits… I’m just so ready to skip to the part where someone already fits. The comfortable sweatpants phase. Lazy Sundays on the couch. That soft, easy love.
But the only way is through. And some days, it’s dark in this tunnel. I keep going, but it feels like I’ll never feel the sun on my face again.
I’ve largely decentered men and romance from my life. But I won’t lie—it still lingers in the corner of my heart. It’s become a chore, like checking email. Another obligatory meet-and-greet with an 85% chance we’ll both ghost each other by next week.
So here I am. Still walking. Still hoping. Trying to trust the process, even when the path feels endless.
On The Blog
