A Quiet Beginning to 2026

Forgive me in advance, this entry is a bit of a hodgepodge of ideas. These are some of the things that felt meaningful to me so far in 2026.

If you’ve known me for a while, you know that Transcendental Meditation is a large part of my life. Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, whose teaching lineage informs my practice, observed silence at the beginning of each year, not as a ritual of withdrawal, but as a way of letting consciousness settle before action begins.

This year, I began 2026 by practicing a full day of silence for the first time. My brother joined me, and it was profound to go an entire day without narrating myself, without explaining, without filling the air to reassure anyone… including myself. It made me wonder if language is always necessary. Since then, I’ve been practicing focused silence more, not as discipline, but as deeper listening.

And yet, silence is only one side of the spectrum. I was also reminded of the power of sound.

It seems like every winter I start to pull out Scott Walker’s albums. January 9th was his birthday, which reminded me that he is one of my favorite artists. I first heard The Drift at fifteen years old, and it completely exploded my brain. I played it so loudly my mother worried about my mental health. After that, I tracked down everything else and never stopped listening.

I’ve kept a magazine clipping that reads “The Sadness of Being Scott” for years, and even screen-printed it onto a favorite sweater without realizing it was also his birthday that same day. If you’re a Criterion Collection subscriber, there’s a beautiful documentary about his work streaming now.

Revisiting that documentary made me reflect on how I receive ideas myself. Scott’s music entering my consciousness reminds me how ideas find you when you’re tuned in, like an antenna waiting to receive them.

Part of my practice is sitting for dedicated time each day doing absolutely nothing but waiting. You can’t get a good idea if you’re distracted. I don’t believe ideas are truly our own; they always feel a little esoteric, as if we’re receiving them rather than inventing them.

This approach recently led me to a new realization with a finished project: a children’s book series. My monkey brain kept telling me I needed to send it out to editors and find a home and audience for it right away, but instead I’m stepping away for a few months to let it breathe. I’ll share it with a few trusted friends, then give it space.

Working on this project reminded me how patience, care, and attention shape both creativity and help us work from the heartspace. The series centers on my three rescue cats, and it also reminded me how deeply connected I am to animals. For as long as I can remember, my heart has always felt connected to them. When I was six and learned what a “Happy Meal” was, I never ate meat again. I was always the child bringing injured animals home and hiding them in my bedroom.

As an adult, I lived in New York City apartments that didn’t allow pets, and it always felt like something was missing. Then, in 2019, I saw a photograph of a very handsome one-eyed cat online, and something in my chest cracked open. I met him and learned he had come from one of the most severe abuse cases the shelter staff had ever seen. My childhood instinct kicked in, and I took him home that day.

That cat was Dylan. Loving him has taught me some of the most valuable lessons of my lifetime. Dylan helped me make the decision to leave New York. Since then, our family has grown first with Edie, then Lou. Animals are endlessly special, and I hope in my lifetime to keep finding new ways to advocate for them, protect them, and share their stories.

This month so far has been about listening, to silence, to music, to ideas, and to the hearts of the animals I love.