There is something wildly unhinged about the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Time doesn’t exist. Days blur together. Your house smells like leftovers and pine needles. You don’t know what day it is, but you do know you’ve watched an entire TV series from start to finish while casually snacking like it’s your full-time job.

This is the week where, for reasons unknown, we collectively decide to reevaluate our entire lives.

You start purging drawers you haven’t opened since 2014. You question your decor choices. You suddenly hate half your wardrobe. You feel kind of garbage-y (emotionally and physically), but instead of resting, you decide now is the moment to map out your “New Year, New Me” plan—lickety split, with pep in your step.

“I’ll start running.”

“I’ll only eat a carnivore diet.”

“I’ll wake up at 5 a.m.”

“I’ll do cold plunges.”

“I’ll do whatever this person on Instagram told me to do because now my entire feed is screaming about it.”

And just like that, you’ve created a list so unrealistic it practically guarantees you’ll feel like a failure by January 12th. But here’s the thing. I’ve started looking at the week between Christmas and New Year’s differently. To me, it’s not a launching pad—it’s a reset.

It’s the deep exhale after weeks of Christmas chaos that comes to a screeching halt on the evening of the 25th. It’s a time to slow down, to recover, to reconnect, and to bask in the joy that Christmas gave us in the first place.

Because Christmas—at its core—gave me love, laughter, memories, and moments that turned into core memories I’ll carry with me. And that week reminds me of something very important: I’m human. And humans require rest. No one can run on caffeine and Christmas cheer forever.

And somewhere inside this strange, stretchy, chaotic-yet-slow week, there are pockets of joy if you let yourself find them. The beauty of it is that nothing is urgent, yet everything feels available. You can say yes without overcommitting. You can linger. You can wander. It’s the kind of week where joy sneaks up on you in small, unexpected ways—between naps and leftovers and one more episode that definitely turns into three.

For me, that joy looked like a fun yet slightly chaotic winter hike to the Flett Tunnel—an old train tunnel turned into an incredible hike that feels like a little adventure tucked away in nature. A gentle public service announcement if you’re going in winter: dress properly, the path is unplowed, and snowshoes are not a bad idea… or honestly, just wait until there’s no snow. But overall, zero regrets, and all fun! I also filled the week with the good stuff—playing games with friends, sipping craft beers at Lakehead Beer, gift exchanges, drinks and apps, grabbing lunch, having breakfast with my nieces, laughter that stretches late into the night. It was a reminder that even in a week built for rest and rejuvenation, there’s still room to enjoy the chaos of the holidays—to connect with truly rad humans you love, and to gently, intentionally remind yourself of what matters most as you step into what’s next.

So, my quiet challenge during that week wasn’t to overhaul my life—it was to create more core memories while also resting. To recharge my mind, body, and soul. To let myself be soft after being so full for so long.

And what that week continues to teach me is this: I don’t need to set myself up with massive, unrealistic goals that only lead to disappointment. Instead, I can continue forward—with intention.

I’ve always loved looking up the animal of the year. It’s something my mom has believed in for as long as I can remember, and it’s become a little ritual I hold close.

2026 is the Year of the Horse.

The horse symbolizes independence and momentum. The element of the year is fire, making it creative, intense, and motivating—pushing us toward adventure and courage. To be bold. When I read that, something clicked.

For 2025, my intention was creating my own magic. And honestly? That sentence carried me. It reminded me that I am my magic. I hosted more. I gathered with intention. I spent time with people I love, made new friends, and nurtured friendships that mean the world to me.

It reminded me that I’m in the driver’s seat of my life—and only I get to decide what happiness looks like.

So, as I move into 2026, I’m carrying that with me. But I also want to do something that scares me. Maybe conquer a fear or two. Maybe choose adventure when comfort feels easier. Be bolder.

I don’t need the full plan mapped out. I just need the intention—tucked quietly into the back of my mind.

So, as we sit here on day one of 2026, I encourage you to do the same. Make intentions, not resolutions. Be mindful. Rest when you need to. And remember—you are the curator of your own magic.

And as the Year of the Horse reminds us: go out there with courage. As my dad has always told me, courage is not the absence of fear. Fear will always walk hand in hand with you. But courage? That’s already inside you. It always has been. So let yourself rest. Let yourself dream. And when you’re ready—move forward with fire.