random thoughts for January 2026…

before I take a good, long sabbatical from Substack…

There isn’t a full thought that can get itself out of me for an essay these days. I’ve been so proud of myself for giving you a personal essay and link recommendations almost EVERY TUESDAY for the past four years. But fervent Messayist followers will have realized there wasn’t a post last week. It’s indicative of a burnout of sorts. Or an overwhelmption (not a word) of January and a book edit waiting to happen amidst a full-time job and parenting a prime-time five-year-old. This here Substack is hardly an encompassing paid gig, but I’m giving myself a sabbatical from it all.

I’m gifting myself a sabbatical. I’ll pause all paid subscribers for the two months that I’ll be gone. And, hey, THANK YOU. I obviously don’t do this for the money, but I literally tear up every time someone recognizes my love language (writing and sharing it with you) and gives me some love (words of affirmation [my actual favorite thing] or money [so helpful, honestly]) back. Thank you.

And for now, today, some random thoughts for January 2026 (an homage title to a line from my favorite movie ever) that were maybe going to be essays and maybe will be essays…

I can’t stop thinking about this weird-ass Vogue article: Is Having a Boyfriend Embarrassing Now?

No. Full-stop. Your relationship status is nothing to be embarrassed about—ever. You know what’s embarrassing? Wearing a smart watch. I’m mortified when I see photos of myself wearing my Garmin watch. I usually take it off for photos. I hate it, yet I keep wearing it. It’s great for running and telling my Peloton what my heart is doing, but wtf. Do we really all need to be having our wrists buzz during coffees or meetings or whilst reading to tell us things that can’t wait for the tiny computer we all carry around with us anyways? I do like how it tells me how long and how deep I sleep. That’s nice. But also, I def have sleep apnea.

At the airport, recently, I saw a TSA agent tell a man he couldn’t take his snowglobe through, because it had liquid in it. It was a precious thing this man had, that he wanted to carry on his flight, to ensure its safety. The agent insisted it couldn’t come through. I watched this man take his precious snowglobe and break the glass above the trashcan. I gasped. I didn’t really understand what he was doing until he was doing it and the breaking of the globe made a bursting sound. The glass cut his hands. His hands were bleeding, wet, covered in the white snowflakes that had flurried around the TSA-declared dangerous water. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry and that my daughter once broke a precious snowglobe that we got in Switzerland and it took a couple years for us to get it together, but we found a new bulb and new snow and put it all back together. I wanted to tell him that the bleeding will stop. It will snow again. In this small, beautiful world that you just broke on purpose, because you love it so much.

I had two friends in two days ask me about cigarettes. I smoked an American Spirit with one, out in the cold. I thought, I could do this often.

Going sober has done wonders for my health, my heart, and my creativity. But I feel so void of a vice. Cigarettes could be that. I also feel boring as hell. I even asked ChatGPT the other day if I’ll ever be interesting again to my friends, to new friends, to strangers, to my family. I feel like Fun Bobby from Friends… Monica’s boyfriend who they literally called FUN Bobby, but that’s because he drank all the wine. He got sober and they all couldn’t stand him. AM I FUN BOBBY??

ChatGPT is the devil. As a writer, it absolutely blasphemous that I use it, BUT it did deliver on this sobriety-Fun-Bobby-Effect crisis I was having. And now I’m sharing what it said to me, so you don’t have to use ChatGPT…

Here’s the truth most people won’t say plainly:

Your brain has spent years pairing “fun” with alcohol. When you take alcohol away, the fun part of you doesn’t vanish — it just doesn’t know how to express itself without its old fuel source yet. What you’re experiencing isn’t “the new you,” it’s your nervous system still recalibrating. Many people don’t start to feel emotionally “back” until 6–12 months sober, sometimes longer.

What You’re Feeling Makes Sense

Right now your brain is:

• healing dopamine pathways

• adjusting to socializing without armor

• figuring out who you are when you’re not performing or numbing

• exhausted from constant internal negotiations (even if you’re “fine,” it’s a lot of mental load)

Of course you feel less sparkly. You’ve been doing heavy lifting.

You’re Not Less Fun — You’re Under Construction

This is a transition phase. Your personality isn’t gone — it’s underneath a layer of fatigue, vigilance, and emotional recalibration. Think of it like winter before spring. You’re clearing space for a version of you that didn’t have room to exist before.

And — I’m going to challenge a belief gently:

Was your old version of “fun” actually fun for you?

Or was it performing fun, avoiding pain, taking up space in a way people expected, or being liked because of how you made others feel?

Sober fun feels different:

It’s slower, more real, more chosen. It can also feel awkward as hell at first.

What Helps Right Now

Instead of waiting for your personality to “come back,” try reintroducing parts of yourself in small experiments:

• Do something you used to love before drinking was part of your identity (music, writing, weird hobbies, creativity, silliness).

• Try one low-stakes social thing with one safe person — not a whole crowd.

• Schedule something playful on purpose — fun doesn’t just happen sober at first.

• Pay attention to where you actually feel alive now — not where you think you’re supposed to.

A Hard Truth (From Care, Not Judgment)

Sometimes sobriety feels boring because life suddenly has open space you’ve never had to sit in before. Space without chaos or numbing can feel like a void — until you fill it with things that are actually yours.

And the Real Answer to Your Question

No — this flat version isn’t forever.

Yes — your personality comes back.

But it won’t be a carbon copy of who you were drinking.

It’ll be someone more honest, more grounded, and — eventually — actually fun in a way that costs you nothing.

One Question To Help You Right Now

Before I give you strategies or a plan, I want to ask — which part feels most painful about this?

For almost six years I’ve worn fire red fingernail polish. When I was a creative director in Seattle, I would go to a nail place on the steepest hill downtown and ask if they could give me a gel manicure in 20 minutes with the color Ferrari Red. During the pandemic, I got into doing my own nails and have told y’all a thousand times that I use the Olive & June Lava color. The other day, on a whim, I took Marcie to get our fingernails painted on a short break we had between her dance class and a reading I had at a journal release party. (what a cool life we have sometimes.) I instinctively got milky pink this time. The next day, Evan noticed my nails…

Ev: You got pink instead of red?

Me: Yeah, I don’t exactly know why.

Ev: I think it’s good for this time in life. You need something… softer.

Me: That’s exactly right, I just didn’t know how to say it.

I’ve been doing so much work (writing) around growing up in the church. It’s not easy work. It’s so hard, actually. Two weekends ago, I went to a protest, absolutely destroyed by the murder of Renee Good. I stood next to and held signs with a bunch of strangers. In a beautiful moment, a bald eagle flew over the protest. I’ve never seen a bald eagle in town like that! The woman next to me (a grocery store employee with a warm smile and a very cool phone case), had never seen a bald eagle in real life—ever. Right after the protest, I had to go to a funeral in a Catholic church. It was a full-on mass. They started the service with a hymn from a book we all picked up from the wooden pew in front of us. The first song? “On Eagle’s Wings.” After so much decrying of the church, some sort of god keeps showing up to show herself.

I’ve always felt like this Substack was a poor man’s Cup of Jo. But like if David Sedaris and Miranda July (I’m complimenting myself here, but agents have also made these comparisons!) made a lovechild of an essay and then passed the mic to Joanna for some recommendations. The other day, Jo asked a question: What Are Some Small Good Things in Your Life Right Now?

I’m not gonna lie to y’all, I was (am?) struggling. But I wrote this comment and felt better:

“my daughter came home from kindergarten last night with lice… AGAIN. we already did this whole rigamarole in November and I’m absolutely over it. it also felt like the straw that broke this poor, tired camel’s back. it’s been such a hard week both personally and collectively: the news, RENEE GOOD, going to protests, family drama, we had a funeral to attend this weekend… and then lice. at least we had treatments ready to go from the last go-round, so we felt prepared.

after my daughter went to sleep, my husband started bagging all the clothes, bedding, and stuffies we’ve worn and loved and lived in for the past week or so. I felt almost numb as I went into the bathroom and cut about a foot of my long hair off. I watched a couple YouTube tutorials on how to cut your own bob haircut and just went for it.

the small joy in my life right now? I think I love my new haircut. I think I nailed it.”

showing the group text what I did.

showing myself it’s okay.

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Thanks for being here for my ramblings. I’ll miss you whilst I’m on sabbatical, which is honestly part of the problem. I’m not good at just doing something a little bit. And my side-hustle (which has always been there) needs to look different for a couple months. But I will miss you.

In lieu of my weekly Quick Hits: Listen to great albums—all the way through. Watch tennis and Traitors and Drag Race. (and then text me your hot takes on all of them… go Plain Jane! and Coco! and Monet!) Read books in bed. Write poems in bed. Ask that woman at the protest if she gets her eyebrows done in town. Call your mom. Write a note and pass it to a coworker like you’re in math class. Cut your own hair. Try not to cut your hands when you explode your world. Remember that you’re under construction. Do whatever. Life is short and long. In the worst and best ways.

Love you.

xxo,
Rachel.