Reflecting, Refreshing, Resolving, Resetting

My guiding word for 2025 is bananapants.

I told you we’d get to Reflecting and Refreshing and Resolving and Resetting, and now I Regret saying that because all I want to do is sniff out every last empty PEZ dispenser and Barbie hooker shoe and headless LOL doll taking up room in my house and light them on fire.

Which, to be fair, falls under the umbrella of “Refresh and Reset.”

My credentials in this area stem mostly from a tendency to evaluate literally anything and everything that I think, do, or say in order to improve it (neurotic); a passion for making lists and then forgetting they exist (ADHD); and having this Substack (world-class oversharer with a degree in creative writing who refuses to write the sex novel my mom says will make me a millionaire).

Still here? High five!

Where November and December might inspire us to think about bigger family traditions to introduce, maintain, or kibosh, the New Year always makes me consider everyday family rituals and routines and just the general flavor of life. Largely because we’re all desperate to get back to some sort of low-key normal after the joyful chaos of the holidays, and also because January marches in with a clipboard barking at you to quit plastic and gluten, choose a Guiding Word for the Year like transform or thrive or jazzercise, and take a good hard look at your life choices.

January needs to Relax.

Here’s the thing. Do I believe in reflecting and gaining insight about myself and my life? Yes. Do I believe in setting intentions and living with purpose? Yes. Do I wish the shiny new goat hairs sprouting from my chin were visible in the bathroom mirror and not just when I’m in the car line at school pick-up? I do.

But I’m also allergic to being yelled at to improve myself, even if the person yelling is wearing sprinkles and lots of exclamation points. So maybe I bought the $30 Personal Growth Journal with the beautiful cover and maybe I only use it when I need to write down measurements or confirmation numbers or spells and I can’t find a post-it note. So what?

(Do you have blank books of best intentions all over your house, too? They mock me with their pristine presence, and I retaliate by recording my deep thoughts in the Notes app.)

I listened to a Melrobbins podcast (I do these things because I love you), and she makes the point that you can’t figure out how to get where you’re going if you don’t know where you are. Or you can’t know where you want to go if you don’t know where you’ve been? I wasn’t totally paying attention but I gather that it’s helpful to Reflect first, before you launch into goal mode.

I will not be launching into goal mode at any time, but I still found reflecting worthwhile.

In the podcast she suggests that you get out your phone and look through your camera roll and your calendar from the previous year. I can’t remember why I came into the kitchen four seconds ago, let alone what all happened in the last twelve months, and actually my brain still thinks 2022 is the future, so referring to my digital life ledger was a great idea. (Apparently we went to Phoenix. On a plane. Did you know about this? And why are there so many glamour shots of Thomas the cat? Because he’s a handsome bandito, that’s why! And how did I forget about the Ice Cream Passport?! A-1 Priority Deluxe for Summer 2025.)

You do not need an 86-point action plan to scroll through your phone, but if you like a little direction, I’d say just jot down what comes to mind. You could even use one of those sad, empty journals you’ve got lying around! Melrobbins has 7 Questions you’re supposed to answer, but maybe you just want to go trippin down memory lane without having to turn it into a self-improvement program, you know? Your brain will probably kick up some insights on its own (my brain is ALWAYS doing things on its own), and that can be enough. My personal version of this activity is less “Sat Nav With Staff Sergeant Siri,” more “head that way and if you see the oak tree that looks like Elvis you’ve gone too far.”

Looking back on 2024, you know what I saw? I saw a really, really good life.

I saw holidays and parties that were fun to plan and fun to do because I’ve finally mostly figured out what’s worth the time, money, and effort to make a celebration successful, and what makes me want to gargle lava rocks. Yay on the parties, ixnay on the lava rocks.

I saw messy, hands-on projects that make my kids’ faces light up like sunshine jellybeans and I want to do more of that, even if it means hazmatting shaving cream and paint and even if it means sometimes my kids will be ready for a hose down in half the time it took to set up.

I saw three golden-hearted glitter bombs who love hard, feel big, and are working on their table manners. There are far more photos of my two little girls than of my big girl, which tells me that either I’m not spending enough time with her, or I’m not noticing moments with her in a way that I think to capture on camera, or both. This is where I feel so acutely how much better life is with an ADHD diagnosis and management plan, because instead of feeling devastated about what a shitty mom I am, I feel thrilled that this is something I get to be better at. Really and truly – lucky, lucky me.

This year, I’m not even a little bit interested in anything that feels like hustle, or like busy, or like when you’re five and you have to wear tights for the Christmas party and the crotch isn’t where it’s supposed to be. None of that.

I want slow, uncluttered, grateful. Room in my home and in my days and in my brain for celebrations big and small and messy art and intentional time with my kids who will only wear the tights if they fit.

Oh god you guys. I have a Guiding Word of the Year and it isn’t bananapants.

It’s spaciousness.

I guess the bonfire of miscellaneous pink and purple plastic bits wasn’t totally off-track after all.

Evidence of unauthorized ketchup snack, as seen in my 2024 Retrospective.