e-Jane wrapped

My 2025 in review

You’ve probably received your Spotify Wrapped, where you get a summary of what you listened to in 2025, and pretty soon you’ll get your Facebook Year in Review. I like seeing these summaries, as I usually feel like life is a hamster wheel or George Jetson’s dog walker catapulting along while nothing really changes. “Jane, stop this crazy thing!” A little reflection is fun.

A summary of my Substack activity for 2025.

Or maybe everything changes. Some years it feels like the weight of the world is on our shoulders, or maybe the sky fell right on us, or everything just sucks. When my dear friend Trish died at the end of 2019 it seemed like everything else that happened was stupid and inconsequential. It was hard to see the good; it was hard to see.

I had some other really hard years, when it felt like I could barely catch a breath. When the kids were babies and I was working full time with a long commute, oof, that was dizzying. 2009 and 2010 included divorce and bankruptcy. But since Trish’s death, it’s been absolute madness with no recovery time: the pandemic (especially the sense that we had no idea what to expect) losing half my income in 2020, long COVID, lots of ER visits, the kids getting sick and struggling to finish college online, losing more people I loved, more long COVID, more doctors, two fucking Trump presidencies, an actual coup, feeling like crap and just being so, so, so tired of it all.

And yet, I think I’m gonna say that my 2025 Year in Review would be quite stellar. Unreal, even. Unexpected in a way that I had absolutely no clue, inkling, or hint. When the craziest/richest man in the world wielded his horrible chain saw, it all came crashing down. The sky fell, total meltdown, ye tang che.

In Tibetan there’s an interesting word: ye tang che. The ye part means “totally, completely,” and the rest of it means “exhausted.” Altogether, ye tang che means totally tired out. We might say “totally fed up.” It describes an experience of complete hopelessness, of completely giving up hope. This is an important point. This is the beginning of the beginning. –Pema Chodron, When Things Fall Apart

And then, it righted itself. For me, anyway.

I remember just before I took this photo I’d been plugging along on an inland route, deep in the trees. It had been a long day and I still had a couple of hours before I would reach Les Sables-d’Olonne. And then I rounded a corner and this whole seascape opened up. Stunning!

I wish I could say the same is true for everything/everyone else.

But instead, we have kidnappings in the streets, people stripped of health insurance, student loan costs and grocery bills skyrocketing, human rights disregarded, wars declared, genocide supported, and basic decency cast aside. There’s more, as you know, even more horribleness.

But I think that most of my readers are here because you’re tired of reading about those things. Tired of the latest crisis, falsehood, and injustice. I totally get it, and that’s why I’ve avoided talking about current events in this Substack—for the most part. It shakes me to the core some days, and it’s hard to see the goodness past all the crap, but I’m trying.

My 2025 has brought me health, joy, adventure, and love in ways that I never thought possible. I’m grateful beyond words, and realize my exceptional fortune.

And I’ve learned a few things.

People are basically good. I’ve believed this as a core Buddhist tenet for many years, but 2025 brought proof. People want to connect with other people, and find common ground, whether it’s a similar cycling trip, a love of ice cream, an understanding of zorg, or a moment of humor. We want our interactions to be positive. We want to leave our fellow humans with a good impression of us and a warm fuzzy feeling. I know, we aren’t consistent and sometimes we’re just cranky. But I think we’re all capable of connection, and would much rather be kind than not.

I can still do hard things. I knew this when I was younger, but these past few years pretty much sapped the confidence right out of me. And believing this again is so liberating, so joyful. It’s so easy to forget that we are our own superheroes, but it’s still true, even when we forget. I often think of the Grand Canyon, where I visited many years ago with a dear friend and our kids. I’d get up in the morning to watch the sunrise over the canyon. It was actually breathtaking. And I’d say to myself: “It will still look like this even when I’m not here to see it.”

Sunrise at the Grand Canyon in 2012

I need beautiful things and movement. I’ve known this most of my adult life, and I’ve often been able to fulfill this need with trips to the mountains and road trips out west. But my bike trip has shown me that I have to make this a priority. I have to see beauty, take in views and wide horizons. I have to keep moving and see the earth move beneath my feet.

The heavens themselves run continually round, the sun riseth and sets, the moon increaseth and decreaseth, stars and planets keep their constant motions, the air is still tossed by the winds, the waters ebb and flow to their conservation no doubt, to teach us that we should ever be in action. The Anatomy of Melancholy by Robert Burton

Gospel Pass, Wales. Certainly a poem has been written about these sheep, calmly contemplating the beautiful valley.

One word: pacing. I learned this the hard way, with long COVID, but I think it applies to everything I do, especially as my body ages. I can still play pickleball, but maybe not every day. I can still cycle 60 miles a day for five days, but then I need a rest. I can still juggle life’s nutty challenges, but then, I need a breather. It’s okay to lie in bed in the morning; it’s okay to rest; and it’s okay to say no.

What’s good is not always good. What’s bad is not always bad. You never know.

So that’s my 2025, wrapped.

The most amazing year I never imagined. Thanks for joining me.