Returnist Recs: 24

38 Things I’ve Learned in 38 years, With Very Little Context

Jan 27, 2026

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Friday, I turned 38. It feels both young and nearer to old, experienced and yet still learning every day. I know who I am - at least right now, but am keenly aware that I will continue to grow, evolve, shape-shift into a future me. More importantly, I like who I am and am resolute in the choices I’ve made to get this far. Yes, some were messy and certainly some are yuckier than I’d easily admit. But right here, this me exits, ripe and ready for another year that feels like a bonus to be gobbled up, every morsel savored.

I’m very bad at asking for attention, particularly on my birthday. But this time around, I was surprised (big time!), seen, loved, made to feel as special as you can possibly imagine, and got to spend time with three of my favorite people on the planet who were cahoots-ing like wild to ensure the day was magic. Decorations still hanging in the living room and candles in cake sitting in the fridge, the weekend was a quiet escape into rest and relaxation. A gift I gave myself was to step away from words and mid-size screens, free from self-imposed pressure and deadlines. But as the hand-held sized screen gruesomely kept my attention, so grew my levels of fear, outrage, and a renewed commitment to doing something. It’s not exactly doom scrolling when you’re looking at facts, assessing damage, feeling deeply in your bones that we’re at an inflection point that’s scary to admit.

I have been struggling to get the requisite sleep, my skin feels dry, and this coffee isn’t working. It’s a beautiful sunshiney day in mid-January Los Angeles and there’s a new jazz record playing in the living room. Everything is right and also nothing is right. My loved ones are safe, secure, whole, moving forward. I made breakfast tacos for lunch and a cold pear snack revived me at 4pm. I’m not sure what this middle place is - the place between turning off the news when my stomach can’t turn in on itself any longer, any deeper… and being so fervently, madly in love with the life I’ve sculpted that we laugh until we ugly cry, waiting in line at CVS. It’s the joy of the dog’s earnest smile, beaming up at us as we check our phones to see if we’re at war.

I remember once in college, my brother mailed me an empty envelope, “no news is good news,” he said when asked. But the subsequent years have changed the weight and emphasis on each of those words until they mean something more weary than the old saying intended. My anxieties and worries for the world are often quelled through taking action - volunteering, donating, convening conversations, learning, gathering in community. There are also days where it feels overwhelming simply to be aware, which in and of itself is a privilege. This tension is compounding in new ways, as I choose to make my thoughts and feelings available for consumption publicly, right here in this thoughtful little corner where you and I meet regularly. As both a consumer of content and a responsible creator of content, there’s a balance between acknowledging, encouraging action, and indulging in a much needed respite from the heaviness we can’t outrun.

Regardless of your personal beliefs, political persuasions, or any other facet that influences your days, the sentiment in Waste Not, Fret Lots is the reminder I often need to look forward with measured optimism. A soft entry into just doing what you can is better than nothing at all:

“There’s no big call to action here or sound byte to glom onto. But the interconnectedness of it all, at any scale, feels more important to consider than before. Maybe we start with giving when and what you can, taking when and how you need, nourishing what is and pushing toward what is yet to be.”

So in this belated post, hot off the heels of my birthday, I’d like to do two things: 1) share bits I’ve gathered in this collection of 365 day intervals, and 2) for you to share The Returnist with at least one person you know who might find themselves at home in these words. Community, I believe, is the antidote to so many wrongs and can be created in so many ways. Thanks, as always, for your support and your eye balls. I’m ever grateful. And with that, I give you:

38 Things I’ve Learned in 38 Years, With Very Little Context

A lot can change in a year. More than you can fathom, actually.
Few things are as nourishing and refreshing as a glass of cool water.
Stop picking at your face in the mirror.
If someone smells good, tell them.
Focus less on what was accomplished and more on how hard you tried.
Order fries for the table.
Time heals, fades scars, and reveals transformation.
Pay attention to what makes your eyes widen and brighten.
If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. If life gives you cancer, enjoy the summer of chemo, free from mosquito bites.
Just because a year ends doesn’t mean you’re done working through the things that happened in that year.
If you’re looking for a perfect bite, start with a Ritz cracker and you’ll rarely be disappointed.
Go ahead and wear all emotions on your sleeve.
Being indispensable is a myth.
Having a great day is often about managing expectations, specifically your own.
You will reach an age where eating raw broccoli is no longer advisable.
The same goes for drinking black coffee on an empty stomach.
You are stronger and more well-equipped than you’ve ever imagined.
Uncertainty is the only guarantee.
Paying attention is free.
Giving a shit is free.
Caring for someone the way you want to be cared for is free.
Unsent poems are best left unsent.
Swimming naked is superior to all other swimming.
Some pivots require a gut-punch of a lesson begging to be heeded.
Take 3 deep breaths every day, no matter what.
Laugh. Harder, louder, longer.
Let gratitude become a habit.
You can be the best in the world at something and also not do that thing. Visibility does not equate to validity.
Don’t show up empty handed.
Soup is a fantastic gift. So is a pastry for the next morning’s breakfast.
Light the good candles, no matter the occasion.
When you’re laying in a hospital bed, nurses and doctors don’t care about your inbox or what your job title is.
Some friendships are like a bonsai tree - requiring daily attention, water, trimming, tending.
Some friendships are like a well-weathered succulent - just as strong in desert conditions and ready to be revisited as time allows.
Prepare for the wins, not just the hard times.
Love. Harder, louder, longer.
Asking for help is not a weakness, and weakness doesn’t make you unworthy of help.
Some days will just be hiding in blankets, others will be a show of strength that you didn’t know you carried. Both are necessary.