Echoes from 2025

This past year has been...a lot. Maybe it’s because we’re at the midway point of the decade, but it felt like consequential events happened at dizzying speed, and at this stage of midlife, my emotions are porous, and I tend to fixate on the very things I cannot control. As a result, I found it difficult to focus on the things that normally give me pleasure: reading, writing, cooking, exercising. Don’t get me wrong, I much to be grateful for. My family. My health. The publication of Nornöns eko. But I found myself particularly affected by the somber mood permeating the world. Wars. Inequality. AI. Gun violence.

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I am seriously worried about where humanity is headed, and I would wake up in the middle of the night riddled by anxiety and spinning thoughts. All of which made my creative efforts feel paltry in comparison. Writing could be therapeutic, but I was not in the mood to organize all that my mind was processing. But as the year draws to a speedy close, I have chosen to keep those dark thoughts in check. It’s not that I’m no longer concerned with the existential questions of the day, but I cannot let them dominate me. Therefore, I’ve decided to reassess the past year and identify what has moved or positively inspired me. In some cases, it was finding moments of grace in the face of tragedy, and in others, it was that reflexive tingle of excitement and delight. Here are the reflections that have helped me end 2025 on an uplifting note.

I’ve made no secret of my frustration with the publishing industry and the struggles I faced to publish Nornöns eko. I join other authors in lamenting the volume of books published each year, making it difficult to break through. The lack of marketing support and the pressure to have a robust social media presence. But despite these stressors, some authors emerged triumphant, renewing my belief that good writing and genuine reader endorsement still matter. So kudos to Virginia Evans and her novel, The Correspondent, and Allen Levi’s Theo of Golden. Thank you for not giving up.

Another artist who deserves applause is painter Amy Sherald, who held fast to her principles and withdrew her planned solo exhibition from the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery after the museum raised concerns about including a painting depicting a transgender woman as the Statue of Liberty. Sherald said proposals to remove or “contextualize” the work amounted to censorship and compromised the integrity of her art. As creators living in a democratic society, we must defend artistic freedom, resist subtle forms of censorship, and insist on the right to tell complex, sometimes uncomfortable truths without compromise. Sherald demonstrates this commitment with dignity and resolve. By the way, I had the privilege of seeing Trans Forming Liberty at the Whitney Museum, and it is a strikingly brilliant interpretation of American values of diversity, equality, and belonging. Values we should celebrate, not fear.

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I did enjoy watching a lot of tennis, and I was as mesmerized by Carlos Alcaraz and Jannik Sinner as everyone else. Admittedly, I’m on Team Sinner — but their rivalry is a testament to sportsmanship — and, as a mother with a son about the same age, good manners! But I was also impressed by other amazing players on the tour (Felix Auger-Aliassime and Amanda Anisimova), who gave their all and, even in the face of defeat, stayed positive and confident, getting back out there. Similar to writing, singles tennis is a solo sport that requires enormous skill, mental fortitude, passion, and a belief that victory (or publication) is within reach. Again, not giving up.  

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I was deeply saddened when Tatiana Schlossberg, daughter of Caroline Kennedy and granddaughter of JFK, revealed her terminal leukemia diagnosis in an essay for The New Yorker. That she is a mother of two in her mid-thirties, previously healthy and active, made the news especially hard to comprehend. I could scarcely read her gut-wrenching piece. Many wrote about it at the time, but I couldn’t. My mother was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer in 2004, and the ordeal Ms. Schlossberg and her family are enduring brought my mother’s illness—and our fear, anger, confusion, and yes, the unfairness of it all—back to the surface. However, even though we feel our loved ones’ pain, they are the ones suffering the physical effects, and Ms. Schlossberg does not shy away from describing her symptoms and the emotional toll.

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My mother’s passing three months after her diagnosis was relatively, perhaps mercifully, swift. Most of that time, I was heavily pregnant in Sweden with my second child, so I don’t know how she came to terms with the grave prognosis or took stock of her remarkable life. Mom didn’t leave anything in writing, and I cling to our final conversations like a lifeline. However, since my selfless mother was more concerned about keeping it together for us, I do remember that she was at peace with her fate toward the end. While I hope for a miracle or medical breakthrough, Ms. Schlossberg seems to be on a journey toward that peace; she appears to be a person of faith with a tremendous support system. But in the realness of her essay, she demonstrates strength and a true profile in courage. And a reminder not to take the days we have been given—and our loved ones—for granted.

Finally, the most unexpected highlight of the year was my daughter Yasmine’s new Substack, Yaz, I Said That. I had no idea she was contemplating this new project, and her entry into the writing space thrilled me for several reasons. First of all, she must have caught the writing bug from her mother, right 😜? But I also know that her career has drawn her into the media world, placing her in proximity to exciting publications and inspiring contributors. However, what fills me with the most pride is hearing her excitement as she brainstorms a topic or seeing her concentration as she taps on her keyboard. I’m impressed by her voice and her keen powers of observation; her choice of subject matter and her culturally savvy Gen Z sensibility. I’m so proud of her desire to express herself boldly and authentically, twice a week. Unlike me, she writes with speed, meeting her self-imposed deadlines like a true journalist, always striving to connect the specific to a larger context.

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Most of all, reading her work reminds me of the deep satisfaction of recording one’s thoughts and offering them up for all—or no one—to see. The urgency of putting words into the world, even if only for oneself. Seeing her joy in writing, something I’ve struggled to access these past few months, gives me hope. Words still matter. They help us make sense of tough times and uncertainty. Writing enables us to foster connections and to dream of brighter days.

As I write this now, I feel stirrings of the writing bug, the flexing of muscles that have lain dormant. I will step into 2026 ready to trust my voice again—and to write my way forward. Sending all my best wishes for a healthy and happy New Year!