People love routine. It brings predictability, a sense of control, and a framework for our hopes, aspirations, and expectations. Every 365 days, we get the chance to close one chapter and begin another-celebrating what went well, letting go of what didn't, and setting intentions for what's next. Whether that means a new job, a lifestyle change, or a move to a new place, I hope the year ahead meets your wishes with a bit of luck and a lot of possibility.
When we started the company, a big chunk of our staffers were in their 20s, bestowing large portions of our editorial output with the imprimatur of youth, but it turns out that every 28-year-old becomes 33 five years later, like clockwork. While we've frequently hired early-career writers in their twenties, our overall average age continues to inch upward, as everyone progresses interminably towards unc status.
For many challenged by struggles and mental health issues, days may feel oddly distant from any sense of well-being, as languishing, depression, sadness, or falling back into unhealthy addictive propensities begin to emerge. These thoughts may even encourage maladaptive behaviors or the temptation to roll back into unhealthy habits, relinquishing control to "feeling processes" that have hijacked logic. People may express these moments in terms of feeling "off" or "not fully present."
Most students, when they're struggling mid-semester, are feeling overwhelmed but don't actually need advice or solutions. This goes against our instinct as parents-we want to solve the problem and eradicate their pain. Don't do it. They already know what to do; they're just struggling to do it. This is where hard, messy lessons occur. Instead, validate how they're feeling. Don't agree with them; just acknowledge how hard this time is for them. Listen with the intent of understanding rather than solving.
Nearly 30 years ago, we went on a vacation with my two little boys to Sanibel Island. We chose a pizza place because, why not? But the pizza they served was, of course, different from our pizza at home. I remember watching with dismay as my oldest son, Nat, who has fairly profound autism, took a bite, scrunched up his face, and said, "Vacation" with angry tears in his voice.
In 2013, on a particularly challenging morning, my coffee machine broke right after my son was diagnosed with leukemia. I was utterly exhausted and scared, needing that caffeine boost to manage my emotions and responsibilities.
