What to Say in 2026?

I'm a month late...ha, in my twenties that would have been a horribly scary thing to say. Chalk one up for your forties, ammiright, girls?

I didn't really have anything to say at the beginning of the new year--nothing I wanted to put into the universe, at least. Part of that comes from what feels like a constant stream of noise happening, and the fact that I didn't want to add to it, to be one more person who put out words that didn't have thought behind them--or positive intention. And so I took a month, and I spent some time talking to people about everything, and I took some time to listen, which might have been the more important part. And I found my words again.

A few weeks ago, a colleague brought me an essay they'd written, just to share it. When I asked what prompted them to write it in the first place, they shared that their father-in-law asked for an essay instead of gifts every year for Christmas. They reiterated that he was a man who loved his family, but felt like he had enough material things, and what he really wanted was to see their words, their passion, their thoughts and feelings on something--anything.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was something I could get behind. (Also? This, family of mine, who probably does not read these blogposts, so I will have to text you all separately? This is what I will be asking my nephews for. I know how much they love writing, so get ready, boys. I can't wait to read essays in our Christmas jammies together.)

And so begins 2026, a month late, but a year of essays...maybe. I am writing a teaching memoir that is essentially all essays and how-to-not-fuck-ups, so, maybe this can be like that?

The first not-essay of 2026 is brought to you by the OG Kehoe Girls on Judi's 70th birthday weekend bash. (I mean, bash might be a bit of a hyperbole. At one point we were sitting at a mall table with a bag of Wetzel's Pretzel's and some diet Pepsi because goddamn can shopping all day take it out of you.)

When we planned a time to get together and celebrate, we realized that the four of us haven't gone on a weekend alone in a lot of years--maybe ten or more? At least since Jude's 60th when we met friends in Palm Springs, and that made us think of how many things have changed, as life is wont to do; how much we've changed. And it's good. I mean, sure, I'd like less wrinkles and not to be exhausted by 10 pm (heyo, we rallied that last cribbage game, Laura Beth). And sure, I'd love to not be shocked by the re-arrival of the fold down yoga pants and crop tops that were in abundance by the younger generation (and no coat. I think I was most shocked by this.) And even more, I'd love to say that I will go away once a year with my three favorite people in the world, but that is a lie because life doesn't always match up. So take the moments that do. That's what this not-essay essay is here to say.

In talking with one of my friends, I realized that maybe I am not taking moments, that I put things off and wait for a perfect time; mainly things that force me to put myself out there.

When she asked me why I hadn't submitted by memoir yet, or at least opened a TikTok for it (bleh, I hate bite sized pieces, thank you) or done literally anything with the writing that's been sitting in my folder for over two years, I had to admit that it was because I didn't feel like I had the authority to write what I was writing. Imposter syndrome: another change in my forties that isn't so awesome. And then she asked a simple question: if not you, a twenty year teacher, who?

Umm, anyone? But why? That's the question. Why anyone else? Why not me? Why not now? Why wait and overthink and overcomplicate? Why not just try?

Yikes. That last one is a hard one, because trying means failing means knowing I'm not good enough instead of just thinking it. (AP Kids, that's what we call a causal line of reasoning, shit as it is.)

Baby steps, though.

First things first, start your year of essays. About anything. For anything. About your three best friends in the world. About loving them even though you don't spend as much time with them. About looking at each of them and being so fucking grateful that even though your lives are different, even though you don't always see eye-to-eye or understand what the fuck they are seeing, you love them. You have them. You get to spend a magical weekend where they follow you into a coffeeshop that specializes in "live soul paintings" and divination readings, because the Starbucks' employees are striking, and even if they don't understand it, or like it, they can see that you are not crossing that metaphorical line.

So you all get coffees with gravestones and ghosts drawn into the froth, and you all kind of love it. Like you love each other.

These words felt worthy. These words felt like they had intention, and that's what I will do for 2026. I will not feel like an imposter as I write my 11 essays that aren't essays. I won't feel like a part of the noise. I will just feel. And I will write. And I will, maybe, do something about that memoir.

I hope your 2026 has started well, loves. And if you want to write an essay, I'd love to read it. (Here's to looking at you, nephews;)).

Until next month.

xoxo