Flowing into 2026

It’s so natural to reflect on the previous year as the days get shorter and the cold weather forces us inside more. We don’t get to bask in the sunlight, but we can revisit the moments that bring us light. All the memories, ideas, and sparks that keep a quiet fire going underneath the daily hustle and routine. I love looking back on my photos from the year and remembering all of the adventures along the way.

This December, I’ve been surprised by what’s bringing that light back for me. It’s not the big goals I used to set at the end of a year, the ambitious plans, or the pressure to have everything mapped out by January. It’s the creative sparks, those small, almost private moments when something clicks.

I love working on a logo and watching a story emerge through lines and colors. Sitting with my book project and realizing I don’t have to finish it alone. Journaling in the quiet mornings, wrapped in a blanket, letting my thoughts wander instead of forcing them into a shape. These tiny moments feel like doorways into something larger: a version of myself that isn’t defined by one thing.

For a long time, I led with the part of me that could build structure. I love my logistics brain that can organize chaos, launch ideas, negotiate, manage, and make things run. I’m so grateful for that part of me. It’s the reason so many things I’ve created had a chance to grow.

But somewhere along the way, I started to feel a pull toward something softer and more expressive. Not instead of what I know but alongside it. I don’t want to choose between strategy and creativity, or between business and nature. The more I try to fit into one lane, the more I realize I was never meant to be a single lane.

Tree Talking taught me that. It started as a lifeline; a way to make sense of grief and to hear my own voice again. Over time, it became less about telling my story and more about offering space for others to find theirs. The idea that someone might pick up a journal or step onto a trail because of something I said…and meet themselves differently…that feels meaningful in a way I couldn’t have imagined a few years ago.

The same thing is happening with my book. Someone recently offered to coach me through finishing it, and it was such a gentle reminder that our stories don’t have to be carried alone. There’s something beautiful in letting another person walk with you through the parts you’re not sure how to articulate, especially when the story is about rebuilding.

All of this, whether designing, writing, coaching, building, it all feels connected now. They’re different shapes of the same instinct: taking what I’ve learned in hard seasons and turning it into something that might help someone else. It doesn’t have to be loud or dramatic. Sometimes it’s just a conversation, a shared moment, a hand extended backward to someone who’s still finding their way.

Winter has a way of revealing the essentials. Maybe that’s why creativity feels so alive right now. It’s color returning, but gently. I’m not rushing into the next chapter. I’m letting it arrive the way a season does: slowly, with small signs.

I used to think growth only happened when I pushed hard. Now it feels more like flowing into what’s next, trusting that the things lighting me up, even the quiet ones, are leading somewhere real, even if I can’t see the full picture yet.

I don’t need to be just one thing. I can be someone who helps a business save money on waste, and someone who sits with another person in their toughest chapter. I can be someone who designs a brand, and someone who hands someone a journal and says, “You can start here.” None of that competes because it all comes from the same place.

So as the year turns, I’m holding onto this question gently:

What if the most important thing you build in 2026 is the version of yourself you’ve been too busy to meet?

I don’t have all the answers yet but I’m excited to find them, one small spark at a time.