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Hope at the Turn of the Year
A quiet winter reflection on progress, family, and enough
I’m writing this on December 31, sitting in the lobby of a busy gym. There’s a lot of end-of-year energy in the room—people moving with purpose, headphones on, lists in their heads. A good workout always gets my blood flowing, but it also loosens my thinking. Physical effort has a way of clearing space.
I went to college in Buffalo, so I really hate cold and snow. We used to joke that Spring Semester didn’t actually begin until May 1, because the long, gray winters refused to let go. Those months had a way of draining the color from everything.
And yet, winter has its moments.
I love the nights. Sitting by the fire. Curled up with the family. Watching a few evergreen movies or shows together. Last night’s double feature was a few episodes of The Detectorists, followed by Chef. My son has become a budding movie critic, happily telling me which films he enjoyed and why. Watching stories together creates space—space to talk about motives, trade-offs, and the bigger themes he’s just beginning to notice.
With the kids off from school for two weeks and my parents in town, the days slow down. We share long family meals. We take walks in the woods when it isn’t too cold. We eat rich, celebratory food. I usually put on a few pounds—happily. Winter has always been a season of nourishment for me, in more ways than one.
That same slowing shows up at work.
Apple Spice is closed from December 24 through January 5. We had a record December this year, which meant packing a lot of business into two intense weeks. Now the team gets some well-earned downtime with their families. We also provide 40 hours of PTO to full-time employees after a year. It’s a small thing on paper, but it matters. Rest should be earned—and honored.
When the calendar pauses and the noise drops, reflection comes naturally.
What worked well this year?
What progress am I proud of?
Where do I want to do better?
What do I want to learn next?
Which habits should I stop—and which ones should I finally start?
Looking ahead, my goals are steady and practical. I want to continue growing sales so I can shore up the rainy-day fund as our vehicles age. I want to keep paying down the business loan. And I want to keep showing up—for the work, both physical and creative.
This past year, I documented my progress in the gym in 52 Weeks Under the Bar: How Strength Training After 50 Changed My Life. What surprised me most wasn’t the strength gains. It was how much consistency mattered more than intensity. Small efforts, repeated often, quietly add up.
I’m looking forward to carrying that same mindset into guitar in 2026. No shortcuts. No pressure to perform. Just steady progress, documented honestly, one week at a time.
That desire for steadiness has also led me to a new way of giving back. I’ve started playing percussion in my guitar teacher’s Syrian-American chorus. I’d been looking for the right place to volunteer for over a year and never quite found it. This one feels right. Music, community, and supporting immigrants—something close to my heart. Music is the great connector. It exists beyond language and difference.
Winter has a way of reminding me that enough isn’t about constant motion or relentless growth. Sometimes enough looks like rest, reflection, and tending to what you’ve already built.
My hope for 2026—for you and for me—is a year of honest progress, deep connection, and the wisdom to know when enough truly is enough.
The kind of progress you only notice after you’ve been showing up for a while.
As the year turns, I keep coming back to this poem by Emily Dickinson. It feels like a fitting send-off—quiet, resilient, and full of hope.
Hope
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.
And sweetest in the gale is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea
Yet never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
— Emily Dickinson
“Know what’s enough. Build what matters.”
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