Word for 2026: Presence...
At the beginning of every year, I choose a word. Not a resolution with deadlines or targets, but a quiet guide to accompany me—something to return to when life becomes noisy or unclear. Last year, my word was choice. I didn’t know then how central that idea would become. I found myself navigating a series of decisions, big and small, that shaped my days and defined my energy. I had to choose what to say yes to, what to say no to, where to invest, and where to let go. I realised how often we are offered the illusion of control, while in reality we are simply choosing how we respond to what life puts in front of us.
But what last year taught me most deeply is that not every choice is ours to make. Some things are taken from us without warning or permission. This past year, I experienced loss—real, irreversible loss—and it shifted something in me. It reminded me, more than any theoretical understanding ever could, that time is not guaranteed, that presence is not something we can postpone, and that absence leaves a space that words cannot fill. No amount of reasoning or productivity can soften the reality of an empty chair. That experience has stayed with me in a quiet, persistent way, reshaping what I ask from this next season of life.
Presence, for me, is not about slowing down for the sake of it. It’s not romanticising stillness or pretending the world will stop spinning. My life remains full—family, work, travel, expectations. But I am learning that presence is possible even in movement. It is the difference between running on autopilot and consciously choosing to be in your life rather than managing it from the sidelines. It is about reaching for depth, even in ordinary moments. It is about not letting grief or busyness flatten everything into grey.
After the lessons of last year, I feel less interested in control and more drawn to connection. I want to be present for the moments that matter—not only the joyful ones, but the difficult ones too. I want to honour sadness when it arrives, to grieve honestly and openly, to sit with discomfort without immediately trying to explain it away. I want to witness the people I love—not just see them in passing, but truly notice them, hold space for them, and allow myself to be fully there, without rushing ahead or disappearing into the noise of everything else.
Professionally, presence also means choosing depth over momentum. It means showing up to meetings and conversations with curiosity rather than just efficiency. It means investing in the people around me—my students, my colleagues, my collaborators—not just because it’s expected, but because it is where real impact is made. And maybe it means remembering that meaning is found in presence far more than in perfection.
I know I will fail at this. I will get pulled back into urgency, distracted by noise, or overwhelmed by everything that needs to be done. But presence is not about doing it perfectly. It is about remembering. Returning. Trying again. Catching myself in the middle of disconnection and choosing to come back, without shame, without panic—just with intention.
So here I am, entering this year not with grand plans, but with a quiet desire for deep, meaningful existence. I don’t want to skim the surface of my own life. I want to inhabit it—fully, honestly, and with both feet on the ground. I want to make space for joy, for rest, for grief, for laughter, and for love in its many forms. I want to walk into each day not asking what I will produce, but how I will be—with myself, with others, and with the world.
This is the invitation of 2026. To stop drifting. To stop performing. To simply return—to this body, this breath, this table, this moment. To what matters.
To presence.
This is beautifully said. Being intentional and present in our day to day whirl of to do's is also on top of my list this year!
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