The Comeback Plan

And all the ways I plan to regress in the new year.

Wednesday Addams is back. So are straight-legged jeans and snow-white tennis shoes. Polly Pockets are on the shelves again. Lindsay Lohan has a new Christmas movie out, after years away from the screen. And the McRib recipe dupes are popping up, even though most of us haven’t tasted one in at least a decade. What’s old is new again, and all that. Except, for many people, this is the first time they’re experiencing these artifacts of history. Which only makes me feel very, very old. 

Nothing makes me more aware of this shift—a regression that’s actually a progression—than the start of a new year. Isn’t that the ultimate comeback? January, returning with a vengeance, foretelling the bombardment of diet culture, resolutions, and calls for renewed productivity. It’s a shock to the system, but I won’t deny that there’s power in the turning of a page, the wiping clean of a slate—or, at least, in the appearance of a fresh start. And who hasn’t used a new year to reimagine their lives and their identities? That is, after all, the point of the resolution. 

We’re anxious to make our comebacks, as brighter, happier, more successful versions of ourselves. But how do we find our way, in a world of so many options, many of which feel more discouraging than encouraging?

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In years past, I’ve used the last few weeks of December to take stock. This usually results in big decisions—leaving jobs, leaving partners, moving to a different city, airing out ancestral grievances. I find a lot of satisfaction in changes, even when they’re tough. For me, a life change often feels like donning a new coat, gliding out into the street like a slightly deranged Mary Tyler Moore, announcing, “Here’s the shiny, improved version! How do you like me now?” These life shake-ups can be a way to escape myself, rather than a way of getting closer to my inner truth—and the root of whatever dissatisfaction I continue to carry with me.

But for once, I don’t feel the same restlessness I normally do. My usual fount of buzzy energy is replaced by something a little more meditative. When I ask myself the big question (“What do I want to do with my one wild and precious life?”), all sorts of goals pepper my mind: I want to own a tiny house by a body of water; I want to publish more and more books; I want to be a good mother and partner. But when I ask myself the underlying question—What do I want to feel from life?—that gets a bit harder to pin down. 

Honestly, I’d like to feel a little more joy and vulnerability. Lately, I’ve sensed a glass wall between me and the world, smudged with handprints, and presenting a slightly misshapen view of the world. The wall is a way to keep people and events at bay; a survival tactic in a heavy, hard world. But I want to see clearly again. I want to feel more fully, with less fear, less self-preservation. To connect more with myself. And on some level, I understand that no amount of “healthy” eating resolutions or perfectly composed capsule wardrobes will get me there.

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My real comeback would involve some excavating of the past. What used to give me joy? What made me wake up with a sense of anticipation? I liked walking alone on the beach in the mornings, my feet halfway between sea and sand, trying to predict the way the gulls would fly once they sensed me approaching. I liked sharing a $4 Subway sandwich with a friend after school, and making luscious strawberry milkshakes to drink (eat?) while reading Sweet Valley High in bed. I liked writing weird short stories by hand with the windows open, the breeze ruffling each sheet of my Mead notebook.

I suppose the common thread is that all these things were done in private. They were done for just me—no social media captures, no invitation for validation or crtique. Each little ritual connected my body to the world in some way. And I wasn’t living with the looming guilt that there was something “better” or more productive I should be doing with my time.

My true comeback is simply living a little more for myself this year. And maybe that means tasting a McRib sandwich for the first time since I was a teen, or introducing my kid to a deluxe Polly Pocket that I would have killed for. Or maybe it just means reading a just-for-fun book in front of an open window, unconsciously wearing a milkshake mustache. All of it, done without guilt.

What does your annual comeback look like? 

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Wonderful subscribers: I’ll be posting an AMA (Ask Me Anything) soon. Is there anything I can answer for you? Just comment or reply to this newsletter. Thank you so much for your support this season. It means everything!

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Recent Notables

Reading

Books:

• Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus: one of my favorite reads of the year. It’s smart and moving, with a healthy dose of galvanizing feminism. Devastated that I read it too late to include in the winter reading list!

• Flight by Lynn Steger Strong: an empathetic story about a family celebrating their first holiday without their mother. (Listen to Strong’s great podcast episode on Everything is Fine, via the fabulous Leslie Stephens!)

• The Lost Daughter by Elena Ferrante: This was slightly slow going for me—it’s just so interior—but I ended up appreciating the look into complicated mother-daughter dynamics. (There’s also a movie on Netflix.)

Articles:

• “After a Divorce, Who Gets the KitchenAid?” (Food52): a fascinating look at the emotional weight of shared objects. Via Ashley Poskin.

• “Instagram Is Over” (The Atlantic): Is this true? I feel fatigued by it. But I’m not sure I have an alternative where I’m an active participant rather than a lurker (like TikTok).

• “My boyfriend, a writer, broke up with me because I’m a writer” (The Guardian): I had a boyfriend who also hated that I kept a journal; hmm.

Loving

• Learning slowly about embodiment practices. More on that later!

• Americanos. Exiting my latte phase and moving into simple, satisfying Americanos for the rest of the month.

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