New Title, No Resolution

Happy 2026!

Well, as happy as it can be, I suppose.

I've re-titled whatever this thing is because let's face it: I'm a mood reader. It's a terrible thing. I was very excited for I'll Make a Spectacle Of You by Beatrice Winifred Iker but now that I have it from the library, I can't be bothered.

It's also a dark academia and I'm completely over those. I've never truly been into them, but I can't even be bothered to read The Raven Scholar, even though it is right up my alley. I'm less interested in students and more interested in professors and politics and librarians. Although, Spectacle takes place at an HBCU and I feel like that's pretty important and I do want to read it.

2026 is the year that I attempt to combat the mood reader-iness. Why do I follow the muse to only abandon it later? Why do I pick up books and then place them down and never pick up again, even though I have no real animosity or disinterest in them?

I've decided to try to keep a journal this year. No pressure. It's on my desk. I can write in it whatever. I don't do "dear diary" stuff. My own inner monologue bores me half the time. But a sort of commonplace book: things I've read or seen; maybe recipes; deep secrets that cough up as I process vulnerability. Perhaps an accounting as to why I am a mood reader.

I had plans to usher in the new year with The Two Towers. For midnight to arrive the moment Gandalf appeared on the dawning of the fifth day. But, I overestimated the number of ads HBO Max would give me (yes, yes we discussed getting these on DVD) and I ended up ringing in 2026 with Sam's speech.

"I can't do this, Sam." - Mr. Frodo

"I know," Sam said, "It’s all wrong By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy. How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened. But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something.

"What are we holding on to, Sam?"

"That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for."

(You can also watch it here)

What a way to usher out the utter rot that was 2025. The soul crushing, the despairing, the overwhelming sense of helplessness. Stories feed us, remind us why we are here. Are my moods dictated by some sort of need to be feed? Some sort of nutrient or desire that the particular book can no longer provide? Some sort of vulnerability?

We are read as much as we are reading. "Where do we find ourselves? In a series where we do not know the extreme and believe it has none."

I always talk about vulnerability and how we fight to save the things that we love. But what does that even mean?

adrienne maree brown in emergent strategy (and in an excellent and sobering interview on the wonderful Vibe Check podcast) writes about how we transform ourselves to transform the world, but in a sense of liberation, not in the sense 0f self-help. Perfection has no place here. (Just as in Sam's story or indeed all of Lord of the Rings). Its about intentional change and building critical connections out of authenticity (me and my mushrooms, always reaching, always building webs of connection). Transforming one's self builds better connections and moves the world outside of the colonial mindset. We all influence one another.

Transformation can look like moving toward a more vegan diet; focusing on reducing waste in one's life; choosing to read more books by Black, Brown, Asian, and Indigenous folk or by LGBTQIA+ creators; building a practice of mindfulness.

Small things move mountains. Streams erode granite, although its never immediate.

My 2026 will be carving a path of authentic connections and intentionality. Of listening to that incredible difficult podcast interview. Reading more poetry. Trying to foster connections and perhaps go back to analog living. More CDs and DVDs (we got a record player; we have a DVD player somewhere), more books. I don't do well with physical books because of my reduced attention span, and also I read at night, but there are ways around it. New types of lights! (my husband suggested a bendy one on the headboard. Love it).

I want to continue to lean into gentleness. My amazing boss said we should think about embracing a soft life recently (in a completely different context). What a concept. As a Capricorn, I'm always striving, always reaching, always need the next milestone to reach so that I know what comes next (could also be the eldest child/ADHD thing too, or the living in a capitalist system thing, but who knows?) Embracing change means not always knowing what comes next and not always having definitive goals in mind. What a terrifyingly exciting prospect.

I hope in 2026 you find a softer life, a warm landing, and more connections.

PS - My YouTube threw this at me and I've been listening to it non-stop.

(quote above is from "Experience" by Emerson)