Toby’s Word of the Year fit like a glove. He was the first in our group chat to share his WOTY way back at Thanksgiving. He’s going through a major (positive!) lifequake and staring at a blank page for 2026, so reimagine made perfect sense. Karen popped in next, inspired by Toby’s word and pondering her work tackling a massive environmental issue in Australia. Together showed up for her. We’re set to talk about our WOTY’s during our mid-month Zoom call. Which means, I’ll need my word, too. Subscribe to have the Luminist delivered to your inbox every Saturday, in both written and audio format, at theluminist.substack.com. For the last nine years I’ve begun my WOTY selection ritual around December 1st. The process goes something like this: look at what’s happening in my life, what’s important to me, what I aspire to be (and thus put my energy toward) in the coming year. Do I want a behavior change? A project initiated? A new way of looking at myself? To get my head out of my ass? Once I narrow down which bucket I’d like to elevate, I sharpie-scribble the various words that pop up onto a blue post-it, pinning them up to my vanity mirror like a photo lineup. I then take a step back, letting the choice percolate through the holidays. A winner emerges as ‘the one’ via some mysterious alchemy which feels like a gentle but persistent tap on the shoulder. Past selections included the word equanimity, which helped me navigate the early days as a C-suite exec. It reminded me of my desire to be cool and calm, emotions I was not always feeling but were important to display as a leader getting to know her team. The word create helped me get off my fanny in the toddler days of TL, encouraging me to stick my neck out, begin writing, find Leona, launch this column. Momentum, abundance, impact, fearless. They all had their year in the sun as my guiding light and grounding force. (You can read about my 2024 WOTY selection here.) But this December, sharpie in hand, I stared down at the blue cube in front of me. I was quite literally drawing a blank. Not only were no words forthcoming, I was feeling decidedly meh about finding them. This, from a words freak? What’s up with that? No words, no curiosity, not even any energy crackling for the hunt. Maybe it was a little pre-holiday burnout, too much time on the move, or not enough sense of urgency. I brushed it off and thought, “oh hell, maybe it’ll come to me in one fell swoop”. Perhaps I’d become so good at the generation process that I no longer needed a process at all. It would just appear out of thin air. Poof! After a trip to London with Kendall and a hell of a hoopla in Dallas with my Texas family, I came home to the silence and solitude of the treehouse. We’d abandoned our decade-long tradition of a ski vacation last year, and had sent Connor back to Denver for work. I was happily staring at the upcoming holiday lull, looking forward to communing with my fuzzy blanket, my hot tea, my pile of books. For once I turned down the volume on my busyness and set myself free in that tweeny week between Christmas and when the new year begins in earnest. And I graciously, kindly invited the WOTY to show itself. Crickets. If at first you don’t succeed, then, of course, force it. So I buckled down. I scanned my brain, tuning my mental dial like the FM radio in my beloved first car (picture 21-year-old Sue in my gold, two-door, 1990, stick-shift, used Honda Accord) in search of…something. I twisted the knob, watching the red line creep right, scanning my brain, then a slow crawl left when I’d reached the end of the line. But all I came up with were garbled words, snippets of my own mind’s psychotic talk shows, heavy metal songs, unintelligible broadcasts from outer space, and static. Lots and lots of static. No epiphany. No ‘aha’ moment. No ‘this is it’. No equanimity or create or deliberate emerging from the white noise. I took my foot off the gas and paused. My inability to tune in to the frequency from which prior WOTYs had sprung was sending me its own kind of signal. So was the fact that I didn’t have the faintest clue what my 2025 WOTY even was. After uselessly straining at the nothingness, I asked myself the $64,000 question: was this ritual no longer for me? I love a good ritual. I love to anchor myself with yearly touchstones. They have always been my bowling bumper rails, helping me to stay focused on goals, make better choices, avoid self-sabotage, or just have more fun and ease in my life. This time of year is usually high season for me in the ritual department. Those ski vacations. My college bowl game viewing habit. Dry January. WOTY. But this year, I find that none of my usual rituals are on the docket. The decision to bail on the ski vacation happened last January. My college bowl game watching has fallen by the wayside. I didn’t have access to the 1,000 streaming platforms I’d need to take in the Duke’s Mayo Bowl, the Cheez-It Bowl, the Doritos Bowl. And even for those I can access, I’m just not feeling it. I have more fun watching Pat McAfee, Coach Saban, and Kirk Herbstreit share their sassy commentary in smaller doses on their College Gameday Insta re-runs. An entire game watching Appalachian State or Prairie View A&M no longer feels like an investment worth the return. The playoff picture has changed how I view college ball. I’ll save my viewing for the semi-finals, for the VRBO Peach Bowl and Chik-fil-A Fiesta Bowl. (Really, NCAA? Has it come to this?) Dry January has also gotten the heave-ho. No, I’m not setting up a Bud Light kegerator in my home office or pounding a fifth of gin every five days to face 2026. In fact, the opposite. What brought me to Dry January year after year doesn’t exist any more: those harried times where a glass of wine was required to take the edge off. Then another. And another. I’ve settled into my life now, two years post boozy corporate dinners and partner cabals. I no longer need Dry January to bring me back to factory settings. Looking at these cast-offs, it’s apparent many of my rituals have turned from revitalizing into relics. So perhaps my WOTY belongs on the chopping block as well? Rituals don’t always last forever. Sometimes they disappear without choice or control. Like my young family’s rituals of nightly bedtime reading or our first day of school, new outfit photo shoots. But many rituals are ones we make to meet our needs — psychological, emotional, physical. And because they aren’t tied to a time of life, they can in theory go on indefinitely. I still bow at the end of yoga and say a silent namaste, thankful for a body that functions for one more day and an instructor willing to teach me in that billion degree room. I still text the kids the airplane emoji every time I take off and land. I still tip my hat to the fat red cardinals sitting in the trees outside my kitchen window and think of Mike. But when chosen rituals have outlived their usefulness, it’s up to us to reconsider. Because when I cling onto old routines or habits that no longer serve me, like death gripping that ratty old Honda’s steering wheel, they don’t just leave me stuck. They take up space where a new ritual might take their place. Once I am willing to ask, “What did this ritual used to do for me that it’s no longer doing?”, the emotion drains away, and I can let go. So that’s what I did with WOTY. I gave myself a little grace and stopped forcing it long enough to realize: no WOTY is showing up because, for once, I’m on the right path. There’s nothing major I want to change about how I’m living in 2026. My life is a continuation of what I’ve set in motion over the last two years, and I’m harvesting the fruits of my labor. I’ll be touring Europe and the US for my Do Loss release. I’ll continue the good work we are doing here at TL. I’ll be plonking away on trains and airplanes, coffee shops and cafes, on my next book, which I’ve currently calling Midlife Pilgrim. And amidst all of that, I’ll be heading out on another pilgrim walk in Norway. I don’t need a WOTY to be my bumper rails. I already know what I’m doing this year, and can’t wait to do it. Leaving rituals behind feels a bit like a trapeze act. I’ve let go of one bar (or several!)… Now where will the next bar be, as I soar through the air empty-handed? Right now, I’m not sure. But I can no more call a new ritual forth than I could a WOTY. I’m not some Moses with his staff. Rituals form around us based on the reasons we need them in the moment. They are not force fit, even when we long for their comfort, safety, or guidance. But maybe I don’t need to hold my breath ‘til the next trapeze bar swings my way. Maybe I’m not flying blind. I’m standing on solid ground in a thriving life. I’m already trying new things, accumulating small habits that could turn into the rituals that carry me into my next season. A poem a day? A new perch to write and read and notice from? A new sports obsession, or regular check-in with far-off friends? A yearly pilgrimage? And in the meantime, I’ll enjoy the feeling of having built a life that is a touchstone, all on it’s own. To trusting your evolution, Sue Subscribe on Substack to receive The Luminist in your inbox every Saturday — an invitation to notice reality, rather than the stories our minds and culture like to spin. Get full access to The Luminist at theluminist.substack.com/subscribe
