A Resolution Solution

Wherein I offer another way of approaching January; plus, oboes, bird feathers, and staying salty.

Hi readers,

How are you? No, really. And if you make resolutions this time of year, how is it going? Do tell.

I have this multihyphenate friend (yoga-instructor-actress-audiobook-narrator) who has been writing recently about how New Year's Resolutions force us to be, as she put it, "hell-bent on resolving, reinventing, and launching something new the moment January arrives." When I read that, I noticed that it had been a good long while since I had made any resolutions that involved hitting the gym on Jan 1 and launching a new business that would probably enrich me enough to buy a pied-a-terre in Southern France. Or whatever. As I told another friend last week, I've become more of a "let me sit for a bit and think about how I'd like to feel and what I'd like to see happen in 2026." Usually what I settle on isn't resolved by January 1, and I try not to force resolution until I'm sure that whatever it is makes a lot of sense or feels right to me. When I figure it out, I write it down, and then I check on those notes throughout the year to see if I'm on track, or whether I need to readjust. I don't view the need to readjust as a failure. I view it more as an acceptance of reality, and a sign that I'd be wise to take another route.

Being hard on yourself, especially when it's cold outside, is a total waste of energy. But maybe I'm just saying that because I had a sound bath earlier this week. 10/10 would recommend, especially with a hit of Reiki.

As I was saying...

My friend goes on to write about planting seeds and seeing what happens. You can scatter them all over the place. Or, you can plant them in neat, orderly rows. Both ways yield something in time. In her case, she arrived at a word that would guide the way she showed up for herself and others over the coming year. It's not tied to pounds lost, or elimination diets, or breaking personal records, which I love. It's just about making a commitment to yourself to embody something to the best of your ability and seeing where that takes you, knowing that the journey won't always follow a straight line or be cut and dried.

What seeds can you plant for yourself this weekend?

Whatever they may be, I hope you have a wonderful few days ahead.

XO,

Paige

Writing prompt: Now it is your turn: Think about a word that could be your guiding force in 2026. Write about what that word is and why you chose it. Then, write about the ways it might require you to show up for yourself and others in the year ahead.

People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.

-- Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Endnotes

An Instrument Created by a Sadist

Now, you didn't ask, but I'm going to tell you anyway: I have tremendous respect for oboe players. Seriously. How do they get that double reed to stop sounding like a strangled goose? How can they be sure that one of the 500 parts on their instrument hasn't fallen off and gotten lost? And how much time do they spend thinking about the fact that if they don't watch it, they could possibly blow themselves into a full-on stroke? Readers, these people are absolute heroes. And then there are the people who actually make the oboes that have traumatized them so. Readers, do not miss this marvelous feature, written by a clearly traumatized former oboe player about a 74-year-old guy named Jim Phelan who's trying to revive the oboe company A. Laubin. “Anything broken really annoys me,” says Phelan, a former French horn player. “But getting something to work turns me on.” For more on Phelan's turn-ons, which include getting A. Laubin out of the red and creating synthetic wood, click here.

A Martyr for Birds

Back in the Gilded Age, one of the ways you'd flaunt your wealth was by buying up land and fancy buildings. The other way you'd do it is by buying your wife a hat that was festooned with a crazy amount of exotic bird feathers, or, hell, the actual stuffed carcasses of those birds. Poachers killed 5 million birds a year to meet demand for these birdie hats, pushing some of these species to near-extinction. In a fascinating and immersive piece for The Bitter Southerner, Atlanta writer Mike Kane explores the so-called Plume Boom as he seeks the ghost of Guy Bradley, a Florida man who lost his life trying to protect these winged creatures. Click here for that tale.

Stay Salty

Have any of you read The Salt Path, Raynor Winn's (not her real name) memoir about how she and her terminally ill husband Moth (also not his real name) lost their home due to a bad business decision and found healing by hiking (maybe) the 630-mile South West Coast Path in England? That book sold a bajillion copies and was turned into a movie that came out last year, but apparently the story may not be true. I'm two episodes in to The Walkers: The Real Salt Path podcast, which aims to uncover the real story behind this publishing and cinema sensation. So far, it's not doing much to make me feel better about humankind and this smash-and-grab era in which we live. Maybe I'll keep listening to see if justice is served. Or maybe, one of you kind readers has a recommendation for a good narrative podcast that might tickle my fancy. If so, please hit reply and let me know what it is and why you love it.

If you get a minute, please consider...

...making a donation of any amount to the American Civil Liberties Union, which aims to protect the rights of ALL people nationwide. Thank you.