I am easing myself into this new year slowly. Gently. With a little space to breathe.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve been savoring my year-end practice of looking back and noticing what shaped me. Last March, I began a simple monthly ritual I learned from Jen Rose Yokel: tracking events, emotions, creativity, questions, and then drawing arrows toward whatever answers eventually emerged. It turned my usual end-of-year reflection into something surprisingly spacious. The year revealed itself without so much effort.
As I looked back, certain moments rose to the surface.
I began working with Brian Evans-Jones at Poetry Place. I returned to The Artist’s Way in community with Jen Rose Yokel’s group. I attended a retreat with Cynthia Bourgeault that stayed with me long after it ended. I helped my daughter close the yoga studio, and afterward we all crashed. Hard. For nearly a month. Maybe six.
There was also an extraordinary backpacking and sailing adventure on a ship roughly the same age, though a different design as Sir Ernest Shackleton’s Endurance. That journey did something deep and quiet in me. I subbed a few yoga classes in August, but otherwise I took a full six-month sabbatical from teaching yoga. I needed it more than I realized.
During that time, I created and taught an online Write Your Story workshop. My hope was to offer a doorway for women who don’t think of themselves as writers to begin telling their stories. It worked. It needs refining, but it was genuinely satisfying to watch something true unfold.
November brought cataract surgery on both eyes. The new lenses are adjustable, almost magical, though the process itself is arduous. I’m not quite finished yet, but I can see clearly again. That still amazes me.
My house, listed in March, finally sold and closed in December. I moved into a lovely apartment about a half mile down the mountain. Close enough to walk up to my grandson’s place, close enough for him to wander down to mine. Christmas was quiet, and I needed it that way.
My word for 2025 was open. It served me well all year long. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready to let it go.
Choosing a word for a new year is never quick for me. It’s a listening practice. I notice what repeats, what nudges, what refuses to be ignored. The word that keeps showing up for 2026 is ask. I’m not thrilled about it. It feels like replacing a favorite old pair of shoes. New ones pinch my toes and rub my heels. I’d much rather keep wearing the old pair.
But here we are. A new year requires new shoes. So I’m lacing them up and paying attention.
Looking Ahead
This year feels like a return to rhythm.
At the end of February, I’ll be leading an in-person Write Your Story Retreat in Tucson, February 28 through March 1, with space for eight participants. More details are coming, but if you’re curious, let me know.
During my sabbatical, I also worked behind the scenes preparing our 200-hour teacher training to move online. The studio may have closed, but it has given new life to a team at Soma Moon Wellness that I am so proud to be a part of. While the full course won’t be ready until fall, I’m excited to share the Living Yoga portion soon. This part of the training focuses on taking yoga off the mat and into daily life: how we respond, how we relate, how we notice ourselves. If you’ve ever wanted a deeper understanding of yoga without wanting to teach, this offering is for you.
I’ll also be teaching the Write Your Story workshop once a month at the Oro Valley Library. This version will unfold slowly over four to five months and, per library guidelines, will be free. Some of you know my late husband Cliff founded a nonprofit. I’ve stepped into the role of director, and part of that commitment is finding ways to use my gifts in service to the community. This workshop is one small way of doing that.
And then there’s the book. In March, In the Grip of the Ice will be released. It tells the story of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s failed Antarctic expedition in verse (poems), from the perspectives of the youngest crew member and stowaway on the voyage, Perce Blackborrow, and Shackleton himself. I’ll share more as the date gets closer.
One last, joyful detail. My daughter gave me dance lessons for Christmas. I now have a respectable rumba, Arizona two-step, and waltz under my belt. It turns out I’m dancing my way into this new year.
Slowly. Openly. Asking as I go.
Great stuff Doraine... keep dancing!
Beautifully shared. Thank you. Lots to ponder and re-read.