I didn’t set out in 2025 to accomplish anything in particular, and didn’t think of this year as important while I was living it. 

I fell twice this year. Both times in front of Eric.
The second time ended in the ER, my hand fractured, my body suddenly not as reliable as I had always assumed it would be. What lingers isn’t the injury, but the way my son looked at me—concerned, protective, suddenly aware of my fragility. I carry that look with me. It changed something. It was a reminder I didn’t ask for, but one I needed: I am not as invincible as I once believed, and I matter deeply to the people who love me.

Health, I realized, is no longer something I can take for granted or push to the margins of my life. I also had my revision operation of my toes in mid-December, and am flying around the house in my knee scooter.

Travel this year felt different. Less about movement, more about being together. Traveling with both of my kids was one of the great gifts of the year. Steve and I, along with Eric and Tina, rented an AirBnB in the center of Arles. We explored Arles and learned its connection to Van Gogh, then spent our days wandering through the villages in the Luberon and Provence regions. There was beauty everywhere, but what mattered most was time: time to wander around, to linger over meals, to simply be together.

After Eric left, Tina stayed on. We took the train to Carcassonne, Toulouse and Albi. In the quiet spaces between destinations, conversations surfaced—honest ones. We spoke about things that had been misunderstood, left unspoken, or simply assumed. I felt something loosen. We came closer. I didn’t know how much space there had been between us until it closed.

I’m grateful my children live nearby. We see each other often, sometimes planned, sometimes spontaneous. Wednesday night has become family dinner night—no grand invitation, no obligation. A year later, it’s still there. A simple ritual that has anchored me, and us, more than I expected. There is something deeply comforting about knowing that once a week, without fanfare, we gather. We call it Wednesday Fam Night.

I also became more aware this year of how central my siblings are in my life. I talk to at least one of them almost every day. I once had a dream that one of them had died, and what frightened me most was the thought that I would no longer have anyone to talk to and laugh silly with. I woke up shaken, and deeply grateful. Some bonds are so woven into daily life that we don’t notice their presence until we imagine their absence.

This year, I also reclaimed some of my time. Steve and I still see each other every day, but more intentionally. We meet for meals or shared moments. We spend one night a week together. It works. He has more space for work, hobbies, and for his children now that they’re home again. I have space for myself, more room to move at my own pace. Nothing feels diminished by this choice. If anything, it feels more honest. Love deepens not through constant closeness, but through balance.

2025 wasn’t about accumulating or adding more to my life. It’s about less motion and more about attention. Adjusting. Listening. Letting go of assumptions. Absorbing and savoring the moments as they come.