Here We Go Again

 

Photo Credit (not AI): muralinath

Here We Go Again: Welcome 2026 

Seems impossible it’s been 365 days since we said goodbye to one year and hello to another year, yet here we are welcoming 2026 with big open arms and a bit of pleading with the Universe to be a bit more gentle this year. 

2025 had big highs and big lows. It was the Year of the Snake and a "Nine" year. It was never meant to be gentle; it was meant to be filled with growth and shedding skins that no longer fit. 

But we never start with the bad news, we always start with the celebrations, so… 

My family and furry dudes rock – we celebrated birthdays, gotcha days, good news, small wins, and each other. I knocked out another year of grad school and wrote a ton (even snagged an award, kinda). One semester (sixteen weeks and a thesis) between me and an MFA in Writing. What am I working on for my thesis? That is yet to be determined, but I am working on a new twistedly true Frankenstein-esque tale, set in Chicago in 1937, so we’ll see where that all leads. This year also gave way to some serious gal time. Not only did we take an incredible beachy vacation, but we spent quality time together supporting, laughing, living, and growing long past our return (and secretly, I’m hoping we get another vacay planned soon).  

The year also brought growth, adjustments, and unease. At the top of that list is saying goodbye to my Dad. Grief is a helluva runaway train, and we all navigate in our own way (you can absolutely expect more stories about grief, life, death, and keeping our loved ones no longer here with us alive in our hearts, as I find my way through the chasm that is the loss of Dad’s presence, light, and support – he was my biggest cheerleader). I think my new normal is keeping one foot moving in front of the other while enduring crippling moments of grief intermittently thrown in, but I’m dealing in my own way, and I know he would want me to persevere, so on we go. 

And there is a bit (huge amount) of hope that, as the Year of the Snake comes to an end, we will embark on something altogether different. Fingers crossed. 

So where will 2026 lead? That’s a fair and loaded question. Soon we head into the Year of the Horse, and if all goes well, we’re galloping away from any residual 2025 shit lingering and into the greatness that is a new year and new cycle. 

Only time will tell for that big-picture stuff. But it’s the small stuff that I can control where I intend to hone my focus, staying in my lane and working on my own things, with purpose and intention: writing, yoga, and creating a life I don’t need a vacation from. 

But don’t hold your breath (this could take time); instead, tune in every week to see how it’s all progressing. 

Speaking of which, new blog posts will go live Sunday evenings at 11:11 p.m., with shares on socials the following week. I intend to stick to the same theme and schedule each month (again, time with tell…haha). 

(Planned) Monthly Blog Schedule

1st Sunday: Welcome/new month/housekeeping and updates post

2nd Sunday: A Creative Nonfiction Story

3rd Sunday: A Book Showcase

4th Sunday: Recent(ish) Reads

5th Sunday: TBD (March, May, July, August, and November)

Sure do hope you’ll tune in next week for a personal essay entitled, “The Algebra Lesson” (it’s a favorite of mine).  

Until next time, find your creative, embrace your wild side, stay sane(ish), and happy reading in 2026!

Best, Aspen Hite

The End is the Beginning

 

I was young, between a kid and not yet a teen. And I would wake up during the thunderstorms, the lightning flashing and the thunder rolling, only to find my Dad staring out my window with his camera in hand, completely mesmerized by the light show outside. As soon as he knew I was awake, he would grin and invite me over to see the show and take pictures.

“It’s the middle of the night,” I would say groggy but not surprised before rolling over, pulling the covers over my head, and going back to bed. 

“One day, you’ll get it,” he’d say before he went back to snapping away. 

This post was supposed to have a cheery holiday feel-good vibe, but those merry words eluded me like time, flitting in and out, prolific and rhythmic, as long as I was far from the keys or a pen. At first, I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. And then it dawned on me: this is the first Christmas without my Dad.

And whoa. 

And fuck. 

And this sucks. 

The end of his life brought me to the beginning of a life without him.

It’s a uniquely painful road to travel. A heavy numbness. A gray void. Darker. Dim. A wide chasm of nothingness.

And there’s nothing you can do but endure. One step in front of the other. One moment at a time. Learning to live with an ache that will never heal. 

It’s so fucking hard to be merry and bright. 

In my Gen X-pick-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps way, I kept myself as busy as I could. A particularly grueling grad class (read and discussed two novels, wrote two stories, and workshopped 25 short stories from my peers) and a 30-hour anatomy course to renew my yoga credentials (hit that deadline with hours to spare) worked nicely.

Until they were over. And the holidays were here. Plop in my lap. Fuck.

But I’ve got some pretty great people, places, and furry friends to support me. And all things good it has been: family, friends, laughter, delicious eats, porch sits, exciting new reads, a great new show to binge, and rest.

And even though I can’t hear his voice or feel his pat on my back, I know he’s here. Always. His presence is felt in the cardinal chirping in the maple, or as the wind chimes tingle in the breeze, or the lights flicker, or my brother tells a silly Dad joke, or a photo. A photo I felt compelled to capture. 

The river view (pictured above) is my commute (I know, right?!?). One night on my way to work, Nature did her thing as she does. I had no choice but to veer off the road and snap that picture, to preserve that moment in time. 

I had no idea what it would mean to me later. I thought I was just diggin’ a sunset, as I do, but it was more than that. It’s an innate appreciation of the natural beauty in the world and the need to stop and preserve it– a connection I share with my father that spans space and time, through life and death whether it’s pulling off on the side of the road for a sunset, or getting out of bed in the middle of the night to catch the lightshow, or a stroll through Botanical Gardens, or a walk along a beach. The need to hold that moment in our hearts. 

Grief overwhelms and swells, ebbing and flowing and hurting like hell. The pinnacle of it all is that the very last thing my father would want for me is to be sad. All he's ever wanted for me is to find peace and contentment in the beauty and joy that surrounds us everywhere. And in general, I do a pretty good job of this. The catch-22 is that now, it's so much harder without his light, his guidance, his support. 

But I honor him as I can, stopping along the river to capture the moment, following my dreams, feeling my feelings, working on myself, and saying no to all the shit that no longer serves (which is harder than it sounds). But no matter where I am or what I’m doing, I know Dad is smiling over my shoulder. Always.

Not only do I have my own personal stops and starts, but we humans find ourselves in the throes of our annual endings and beginnings.  

Seems surreal to me that we are at the end of the last month of 2025. Autumn has ended, as have the darkening nights in the Northern Hemisphere. Beginnings are soon to follow. Winter and the return of light are here, and we’re mere days away from a new month and a brand new year. 

From me to you, hoping you had the merriest, brightest, most blessed, Solstice, Yule, Christmas, Kwanza, Hanukkah, your holiday celebration of choice. May love, light, laughter, alignment, health, wealth, prosperity, and goodness find you in 2026. 

Until next year, find your creative, embrace your wild side, stay sane(ish), and happy reading!

Best, Aspen Hite

Out With the Old; In With the New

📷credit: Mohamed_hassan 

Out With the Old; In With the New

Time is a funny, fickle thing. In some moments, I feel silly and young and alive, like I’m 17, and in other moments, I’m tired, like I’ve lived 117 years and a thousand lifetimes. Somehow, in a way I don’t really understand, this year flashed in the blink of an eye. As 2023 ends, I like to reflect on how I spent the year. 

What have I been doing? My knee-jerk response is to shrug and say, “I don’t know. Nothing.” But in truth, I’ve been busy working, teaching, reading, resting, letting go of all that no longer serves, and easing into all that is meant for me. Some of it’s heavy stuff. 

But I’ve also been writing. In fact, I spent a good chunk of the year tuning out the world and writing. I am beyond grateful for that opportunity because the grown-up outside world can come knocking, like a wise guy barging in to break your legs. So, I am humbled and thankful for that time.

At the beginning of the year, I tried hard to have an online presence. However, convincing strangers I'm a writer takes a lot of work. It worked for a while (welcome to the odd time in the 21st century, where we talk more than we do). One day, I had nothing left to post on my blog, and I’d spent too much time focusing on social media. It was the literal antithesis of where I wanted to be. 

I needed a kick in the pants, so I got out of my comfort zone and went to a writers' conference. Not only were there some great workshops, but I also got feedback from industry professionals and pitched to an agent who asked to see the first 50 pages of my novel! It was an INVALUABLE experience. 

After some polish and shine, I sent the pages to the agent and waited, checking my email every ten minutes while simultaneously planning the agent’s delighted response. (Ever see A Christmas Story where Ralphie envisions his teacher’s joy at reading his essay? It was a bit like that.) She was going to love it. I was on Cloud Nine. This was it; my time had come. 

But I also had a genuine problem. I had embellished (it’s what writers do) the completion level of the novel. I was only about halfway through and still needed a middle, a climax, and an ending (roughly 30,000 words). I DID have an outline and an idea (or two). So I wrote. Tuned out the world, and spun a tale.

I put all my energy into finishing that novel. Short stories and blogs sat incomplete and unfinished. The online posts stopped. My reading slowed, and I almost forgot about my word game. The only thing in my crosshairs was telling that story. 

One day in mid-June, I finished. It wasn’t shiny and polished, but I’d told the tale. With nothing but radio silence from the agent, I let the first book simmer and immediately got to work on the second one. I was on a roll.

Finally, a response from the agent came. I was giddy until I opened the email. 

The agent passed on the story. To her credit, she was kind and even offered specific areas of improvement. And she was right, but now what? My dream of a smooth path to publication (after ten years) was just gone. Poof. Snap of the fingers. In one email. Gone. 

It took a hot second to allow the disappointment to fade, but then things became clearer: 

1. I’d made writing a priority, and I had two new novels and a third in rough outline form. All of it had been to show myself I could do it. 

2. It was time to stop fucking around. Stumbling around aimlessly, trying to be a writer was over.  I didn’t need any more ways to NOT write a bestseller. I needed to learn—the tricks of the trade, the ins and outs. 

So, after jumping through several flaming hoops and almost getting lost in paperwork, I’ve been accepted into a Master of Fine Arts in Writing program. 

Brand new story beginning January 2024. Is it going to lead me to a life of best-selling novels (and that private island I’m always going on about)? Probably not, but as I learn from local industry professionals, I’m open to discovering my niche to see where it leads. Hopefully, to a revenue-generating career where I can entertain people with stories and positively impact the lives of readers of all ages. Perhaps I wind up back in a classroom or write a Kids' Yoga book (better yet, the next bestseller turned Netflix series). Maybe self-publishing, editing, or freelance writing will fit my lifestyle better. Time will tell. 

For now, I’m embracing the present, celebrating the lessons of 2023, and having faith in the ebb and flow of the journey.

Endless possibilities loom on the horizon, each filled with challenges and lessons, all filled with learning and laughter (to keep me balanced). 

Wishing you a wonderful New Year. May 2024 bring you peace, joy, and blessings. 💜

Until next time… 

Be creative. Find your wild side. Stay sane(ish). 

Aspen Hite ✌️