Today I’m sitting in the studio with a cup of coffee, sunshine warming my shoulder, and that quiet, reflective feeling that always seems to show up right after a big transition.
Yesterday, my kids went back to school after the holiday break.
Usually, I’m very ready for that moment—the structure, the quiet, the return to routine. But this year surprised me. I wasn’t ready at all. And that feeling has been sitting with me, asking to be listened to.
Our holiday break looked different than most. We were home a lot. We were sick off and on (nothing terrible, thankfully), which forced us to slow down. We rested. We canceled plans. We spent more time together than usual, and in a strange way, that forced rest felt like a small sabbatical.
I stepped away from work. I stepped away from email. I let my mind wander again.
And that space gave me clarity—not the loud, goal-setting kind of clarity, but the quiet kind that comes when you finally stop pushing.
The Satisfaction of Finishing
This Christmas also became the season of puzzles in our house. I think we finished three… maybe more. There’s something deeply calming about sitting around a table, placing one piece after another, knowing two things for sure:
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You’ll finish.
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The end result will be good.
As a creative person, puzzles are interesting to me. You’re not really “creating” something new—you’re assembling something that already exists—but you still get the satisfaction of problem-solving, visual beauty, and completion. At our house, when the puzzle is done we all lean over it and smooth the whole thing out with our open palms—it's a tiny way of enjoying the puzzle-finishing-victory together.
There’s no pressure to invent.
No pressure to perform.
Just the quiet joy of steady progress piece-by-piece.
I won’t go down the rabbit hole of why I think puzzles are so satisfying (though I could), but I do think they give us something many creatives deeply crave: the experience of engaging, creative problem-solving, then finishing. The experience of enjoying the process, then admiring the result.
And that thought keeps circling back as I think about this next season of life and art.
What I’m Craving Right Now (Not Goals—Desires)
After having 3-4 weeks of slower living, I’m noticing a few desires rising to the surface. This isn’t an exhaustive list. It’s just what's coming up for me right now:
1. More margin with my kids
As school and activities ramp back up, I can feel my nervous system tightening.
The calendar fills.
The afternoons disappear.
The rushing begins.
What I’m craving is margin—not huge blocks of time, just enough.
Ten minutes to walk around the block with them.
A few quiet moments on the couch with a picture book.
Time at the table after school where no one is rushing off to the next thing and we can share about our day over a snack.
That’s where my kids open up. That’s where connection lives. And I don’t have a tidy solution yet—I just know this desire matters.
2. Calm consistency in my art practice
January has a way of making us feel overly ambitious. After time away from the studio, it’s tempting to jump back in with big plans and heavy expectations.
I don’t want that this year.
What I’m craving instead is consistency without pressure.
An art practice that feels beautiful, simple, and doable.
A rhythm I can return to without burning out.
I do want to keep growing my skills. I want to study more. I want to improve. But I’m learning that growth sticks best when it’s built on ease and enjoyment rather than intensity.
3. Enjoyment leads to consistency (every time)
When I look back at anything I’ve stuck with—art, home rhythms, etc—it always has one thing in common: enjoyment.
This month, I've started swimming twice a week. Not because it’s trendy. Not because it’s the “best” workout. But because I enjoy it.
I didn’t commit to a year.
I didn’t overthink it.
I just asked, What feels good right now?
That same question applies to art.
Instead of forcing big production goals or jumping back into art fairs, I’m paying attention to what I genuinely enjoy—and right now, that’s 1 hour painting sketches. They check all the boxes: beauty, skill-building, ease, finishing, and joy.
Enjoyment is what keeps me coming back.
I'm wanting to build good habits out of a place of enjoyment.
4. A deeper longing for creative community
One of the biggest reflections from last year is how much I loved teaching—but also how isolating painting alone can be if there's no space to share with others.
Art comes alive in conversation.
In shared spaces.
In rooms full of people who see the world a little differently.
Being around other artists always increases my enjoyment of painting. It inspires me. It challenges me. It reminds me why this work matters.
As I look ahead, I feel strongly drawn toward building something more community-focused—a place where painters can learn, share, ask questions, and grow together in a way that feels supportive and human.
I’m still shaping what that will look like. But you’ll be hearing more soon.
Why I’m Choosing Desire Over Goals This Year
I’m intentionally avoiding the word goals right now.
Not because goals are bad—but because desire feels gentler. More honest. More sustainable.
Goals ask us to perform.
Desire asks us to listen.
So instead of asking, What are you going to crush this year?
I want to ask:
What are you desiring in this next season?
Maybe it’s rest.
Maybe it’s consistency.
Maybe it’s joy.
Maybe it’s finishing something small.
You don’t need a five-year plan to honor a desire.
For the moment, you just need to notice it.
Here’s to a new year that feels less rushed.
More spacious.
More human.
More creative.
More enjoyable.
To your creativity in 2026,
Angela