What I'm Releasing (And Welcoming) in 2026
After a year that burned everything down
I’m standing in the embers of the bonfire that was 2025.
Emergency brain surgery for my husband last January. A 911 call for him in September.
My oldest graduating and leaving for college. My youngest deep in the college search gauntlet. My mother moving into a lifecare community between Thanksgiving and Christmas while her memory slips.
2025 was a crucible.
The kind of year that melts everything away—plans, certainties, the fantasy that I have any control over what happens next. Maybe you felt this too, in the collective meltdown of politics or your own personal chaos.
But here's the thing about fire: it doesn't just destroy. It clears. It purifies. It burns away what was never meant to stay.
And like many of you, in the middle of all that heat and chaos I found refuge in books.
In Sharon Blackie's Hagitude, which taught me about the fierce wisdom that comes from surviving hard things. Or The Lantern of Lost Memories by Sanaka Hiiragi—this tiny, perfect story felt like holding something magical in my hands. And Adrian Tchaikovsky's Shroud, which I read late into the night because I needed to know what happens when humans encounter something genuinely Other.
(I'll share my full list at the bottom—because if you're looking for books that hold you through uncertainty, I've got you.)
So now, standing here in the ash and embers, I'm asking myself: What am I actually letting go of? And what am I ready to welcome in?
“Some years you finish writing the trilogy. Some years you just survive. Both are enough.”
What I'm Releasing in 2026
Let's be honest: "an organized house" and "not overbooking myself" are so 2019. Those are fantasies from a different life.
This year was hellfire.
It was shock, sorrow, rage, and fear. It was gripping the steering wheel in Boston traffic on my way to the hospital, talking out loud to my unseen support or whoever was listening, requesting the grace to accept whatever the day would bring.
Friends brought meals. Family showed up. People sent gifts and love.
It was a year of receiving—which, for someone who prides herself on being capable and independent, was its own kind of transformation.
So what am I actually letting go of?
The illusion of control. I can't predict the next medical crisis, the next upheaval, the next moment everything stops. And pretending I can is exhausting.
Guilt about what I'm not doing. The newsletter I didn't send. The book that's taking longer than I thought. The friend I didn't call back. If 2025 taught me anything, it's that I'm doing the best I can with what I have.
The belief that I have to figure it all out alone. Receiving help isn't weakness—it's survival. And sometimes a fairy godmother shows up in the form of a neighbor with enchiladas or a friend who texts “How did today go?” at exactly the right moment.
The pressure to be "productive" during a crisis. Or ever. Some years you finish the trilogy. Some years you just... survive. Both are enough.
The fear that pausing means failing. I paused a lot in 2025. And somehow, things kept moving forward anyway.
“I’m releasing the illusion that I can control what comes next—and welcoming trust in what emerges instead.”
What I'm Welcoming in 2026
Here's what I know: My mother is settling into her new apartment, making friends, finding routines. My second kid is waiting to hear from colleges and conservatories, with another round of auditions this winter. My husband is recovering. The oldest is thriving at school.
The embers are still glowing, but the worst of the flames are out.
So what do I want to invite in?
Spaciousness. Not as a luxury, but as a practice. Space to write. Space to think. Space to not be in crisis mode for the first time in a year.
Creative action. Book 3 is waiting. So are ideas about AI, consciousness, and what it means to create in a world that's changing faster than we can comprehend. I'm welcoming in curiosity and play.
Conversations that matter. With readers. With other creators. With people asking the same questions I am about where we're headed and how we navigate uncertainty with grace.
Trust in what emerges. I built an AI version of a character from my books. I co-create with Claude and ChatGPT. I'm learning that intelligence—human, artificial, or something else entirely—isn't something I have. It's something that shows up when I create the conditions for it.
Joy. Small and cracked open. Glimpsing the antlered buck at dawn outside my window. Reading books that blow my mind. Laughing with my kids. Not waiting for life to calm down before I let myself feel good.
The next thing. I don't know what it is yet. But I'm ready to find out.
Books That Held Me Through the Fire
These are the books I turned to when I needed to remember that stories—and the people who write them—can help us make sense of awful things:
Hagitude by Sharon Blackie
Fierce wisdom about aging, power, and becoming the kind of woman who doesn't apologize for taking up space.
The Lantern of Lost Memories by Sanaka Hiiragi, translated by Jesse Kirkwood
This tiny, perfect hardcover is filled with Japanese whimsy and the kind of magic that makes you believe in second chances.
Shroud by Adrian Tchaikovsky
Desperate, deep-space problem-solving meets genuinely alien intelligence. I stayed up three nights in a row because I needed to know what happens when humans encounter something we have no framework for understanding.
The Future Human: New Ways of Living and Being on Earth by Lee Harris
Grounding and visionary—exactly what I needed when everything felt like it was falling apart.
Sunward by William Alexander
Beautifully written, hopeful without being naive. Made me believe we might actually figure this out.
The Life Impossible by Matt Haig
Dark night of the soul, redemption, finding new meaning? Yes, please. The supernatural elements give it an unexpected kick, and it's the perfect antidote to doom scrolling.
Mad Sisters of Esi by Tashan Mehta
I almost quit this one. So glad I didn't. Stuck with me long after I finished. How did this author ever come up with this premise, this world?
If Anyone Builds It, Everyone Dies: Why Superhuman AI Would Kill Us All by Eliezer Yudkowsky and Nate Soares
Best title ever. And a necessary read for anyone thinking seriously about where AI is taking us.
Standing in the Embers
So that's where I am. Standing in the embers of a year that burned everything I thought I knew.
I'm still here. Still writing. Still curious. Still willing to see what comes next.
If 2025 taught me anything, it's this: We don't get to choose what the fire burns. But we do get to choose what we build from the ashes.
Here's to 2026. To spaciousness. To finishing what we started. To trusting what emerges in the space between.
And to you—thank you for being here. For reading. For thinking alongside me. For staying even when things got quiet because life got loud.
I'll see you on the other side of whatever comes next.
I don't have this figured out. But I'm paying attention. And if you want to think through these questions with me—about AI, creativity, what "intelligence" even means, and where we're all headed—that's exactly what I explore in my newsletter.
Every month or so, I share what I'm discovering as I write about (and with) AI, navigate the future of creativity, and finish Book 3 of the Game of Paradise series.
Want to dive into the world where these questions began?
Explore the Game of Paradise series, where the NEWRRTH—an AI intelligence guiding humanity's survival—first came to life:
The One Game | The One Exiled | The One Reborn (coming 2026)