A Different Kind of Hard
Hello friends,
I hope this finds you well and safe. Here in western Maine, many of our small, rural communities are on alert with the arrival of ICE. To say it is disheartening feels like an understatement. Our community partners are coordinating care, and working together to ensure that our neighbors, family members, and loved ones remain as safe as possible.
As if that weren’t enough, we’re also staring down record-breaking Arctic temperatures this weekend, followed by a major snowstorm. Taken together, it’s a lot
It reminds me that life moves in cycles, and not all of them are gentle. Some stretches are simply hard. Winter is hard, but it’s a kind of hard with an end date—you know, even on the bleakest day, that it will not last forever. Other difficult periods are less defined. They linger. They blur into normalcy. Sometimes you don’t even realize how heavy they were until you’re standing on the other side of them. I look back on COVID now and think, wow—that was hard, even though at the time it just felt like survival.
Nursing school is one of those demanding chapters. I’m old enough to know there will always be another challenge waiting beyond it. Still, I imagine finishing school as stepping out of a cluttered, chaotic room. The mess will still need attention—but at least I’ll be standing in clearer air, able to see what comes next.
Nature planned Imbolc at just the right time. The coldest, harshest part of the year in the northern hemisphere. And yet—here comes the gift of light. It’s a subtle offering, easily missed if you’re only measuring the day by temperature. But it’s there, if you know how to look: the days stretching just a little longer, warmth returning to the sun’s touch, its angle shifting ever so slightly. Birds flit and sing. Icicles on the south-facing eaves drip at noon. Small, stubborn signs of what’s ahead.
These are reminders that even the hardest times contain the seeds of what follows.
So I am choosing hope. I am choosing to believe that this moment—however heavy—will not stand forever. That light and kindness endure. That spring is not naïve optimism, but a certainty written into the natural world.
It is coming. And until then, we keep going.
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My To-Do List Will Never Be Done - And That’s Okay
Last week, I wrote about chasing a feeling and how life can feel perpetually just out of reach. This week, I want to explore the idea of completion - of checking off every box on your to-do list. Because let’s be honest— as a society we are obsessed with it. There are whole platforms like Notion, Trello, and Microsoft Planner dedicated to helping people get stuff done.
My toxic trait is making a completely unhinged to-do list for myself and then feeling frustrated when I cross off 2-3 items at most. Sure, there’s something cathartic about ticking a box and the deep satisfaction of finishing something. But lately, I’ve noticed my to-do lists never seem to shrink. In fact, they only seem longer. And usually, this correlates with an uptick in stress in my life.
I think know stress drives me to make lists as a way to establish some semblance of control. But the lists often become useless because I never come close to finishing them. Here’s the thing: if you are like me, your to-do lists are never finished. There’s always one lurking in the shadows, waiting to steal your Saturday morning or swallow your after-work routine—all with the promise that this list will finally get you organized and get your sh!t together.
As Jack Nicholson says in The Witches of Eastwick—one of my all-time favorite movies—“You wash the dishes, there’s more to wash tomorrow.” Sure, in the movie he’s literally the devil trying to convince Cher to eschew her domestic responsibilities and sleep over, but he’s not wrong about the dishes. Some things in life will never be done. Yet we tackle them like they can be. And that’s how frustration and overwhelm creep in.
I enjoy a clean house, but not at the expense of my limited free time and energy. At some point, it’s okay to say: this is good enough. The floors don’t need to sparkle, the laundry doesn’t need to be folded immediately, and the dishes can wait until morning. The same goes for your to-do list. It’s okay to cap it at two or three things instead of trying to do everything in a single day. Doing a few things well—and then resting—often serves us far better than exhausting ourselves in the pursuit of “caught up,” a state that rarely exists anyway.
As we start 2026, many people start plotting the whole new year - new me. If this is you and you’ve been feeling overwhelmed by everything you think you should be tackling this year, I’m here to say—put down the pen and paper, close out your Notes app, and take a beat. Ask yourself: what’s driving the need to accomplish everything right now?
To help, I have my Let It Go List, which I first shared back in 2022. It’s a simple tool that helps you sift through all the things floating around in your brain, and categorize them as important or something to just let go - at least for now. While my priorities have shifted since creating my Let It Go List, much of the advice still rings true. Check out the full post and grab the free download here.
How long is your to-do list? Are you going to let some things go in 2026?
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?