Welcome back to January. I can’t believe it’s been a whole year since I started this writing journey. 

Wait….that’s not true. I actually CAN believe it. I have felt every blessed minute of this past year. None of it flew by. Literally none of it. Even the parts that people usually say “wow, that flew by” about, like the May rush of getting to summer, or summer, or the holidays, were not fast. No. It was a slog, and I am definitely in total alignment with the fact that that was a year. 

Anyways, after a year of firsts and a year of (mostly) consistent writing, I’m proud to report: 

• 38 total posts
• Over 33,000 words written
• 2,563 views from over 40 countries
• 455 likes
• 131 comments
• 55 subscribers

I wanted to end the year with a big wrap up of all of the firsts I did but that feels like an administrative task that is more of a burden than fun, so I’m not going to do it! 

Some people have asked me how I feel about the one year anniversary of losing my father, and I can honestly say I’m OK. On the morning of Christmas Eve, I received a beautiful text from my sister-in-law sending her love and acknowledging the anniversary. And then my mom checked in with my sister and I, and love and tears were shared. I took a moment outside and listened to a favorite song, and saw a bird fly by, and I felt sad, but good, knowing that things were as they should be in that moment, and that is the best any of us can ask for. 

I ended the year reading a few things that set the mood: 

A Christmas Memory by Truman Capote, reminded me that home is a moment in time as much as it is a place, and that we can carry it with us anywhere. 

This Time Tomorrow by Emma Straub which, as the author described, was written as a gift from daughter to father. It was a gorgeous story of wish fulfillment and appreciating how perfect your imperfect life can be. Mostly, it argues that if you had a chance to do your life over again, sometimes the only thing you would change is getting one more good conversation with the people you miss most. 

Finally, Dawn by Octavia Butler, the first in a trilogy about aliens and evolution, was an epic read to accompany being alive at this moment on Earth. It confronts the ways in which humans are capable of such intelligence and barbarism at every stage of our existence. It examines how our fear of difference keeps us from seeing each other clearly. It also offers an alternative perspective for how to heal our rifts as a species. Butler is, honestly, one of the most profound sci-fi writers ever. 

I’ll end this check in with my final first of 2025. I subscribe to the We’re Here newsletter written by Hank & John Green. It’s a cool little roundup of positive news on the Internet, data, games, and community created art. They often ask for community participation, and in December they asked their subscribers to write themselves a letter reflecting on 2025 and another looking forward to 2026. I hadn’t participated in one of these writing requests to date, so decided to do this one, since it seemed so fitting. Anyways, they published an excerpt of my letter in their new year’s issue – and I was the first one on the list! 

So, what I am taking from this is I think one of my favorite authors read something I wrote and *actually* liked it? I mean, he did, right? 

Anyways, if you want to read the specific newsletter, and my excerpt, you can click THIS LINK, and if you’d like to read the letter in its entirety, here you go….

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Dear Jessica, 

Well, you have almost just finished it: your first year on earth without your dad. That was probably the worst part. 

It was also your first full year as an independent consultant, your first year parenting an 8 year old, a year when you bought nothing from Amazon and stopped drinking alcohol, your first year blogging at yearoffirsts.blog (even though that’s so 1990s) and the first year where you got to be in the divine presence of Keanu Reeves (without his pants on. For realz. And yes, he was on stage and there were a few hundred other people there, but it still counts.) 

You made it a point to try and do a lot of new things for the first time, because this was your year of firsts without your dad. And you wanted some of those firsts to be fun, not just sad. And that was definitely a goal you crushed. I am proud of you for not giving up, and for being so darn creative about it. 

For instance, you decided you were going to collect old clothes and books for charity, and you called and emailed everyone you knew and asked them to clean out their closets and give you their old stuff. And you had about 30 or 40 people over to your house with all of their stuff, and you collected 2 car loads of goods at a public event, and you met old friends in parking lots, and your neighbors came over with their bags of beautifully folded shirts, and you retrieved 4 enormous bags of linens from your father-in-law’s house, and you went around to a half dozen public schools bagging up their lost and found piles after the last bell rang. And then, all of a sudden your garage was full of stuff, and you rented a box truck and drove it all to be dropped of at the resale center, and it weighed over 3,500 pounds, and you made $500 for Mill City Grows, and you also proved to yourself that you are surrounded by a wonderful community that really cares, and that you can do any wackadoodle thing you put your mind to. 

I’m not trying to downplay the bad parts. You cried. A lot. You were really bummed out for a good amount of the time. And you needed help. Lots of it. 

Also, you were able to ask for the help you needed. You reached out to people. You networked your way to new clients. You had really beautiful conversations with new and old friends. You traveled. You showed up when it was important. You were a partner, a wife, a mom, a daughter, a sister, and a friend when you were needed. You continued to be a beautiful, strong thread in the fabric of life. 

What you did was this; you saw you were hurting, and you looked for help to heal. You recognized when others were hurting, and you tried to help them as best you could. You believed in yourself, you fell down, and you got back up. You crawled, walked, marched, and danced your way through this year that has felt longer than any you can remember. But you did it, and I am super proud of you. 

Your dad would be, too. 

Love always, Jessica