Every year, I try to choose a word. A small word with big responsibility. A word that quietly taps me on the shoulder throughout the year and asks, Are you paying attention?

In the past in one year for example, I chose joy. And it mattered. I didn’t just smile more; I guarded it. I learned that joy isn’t something you wait for. It’s something you protect. I worked hard not to let others steal it, dent it, or talk me out of it. That word did its job.

This year, I find myself wanting something different. Not louder. Not shinier. Deeper.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about going back.

Not in a stuck way. Not in a things were better then way. But in a curious, intentional way. When I travel, I usually chase new places. New stamps. New views. But what if I returned instead? Back to Spain. Back to where family gathers such as Florida and Puerto Rico. What if familiarity still has something to teach me?

What if I finally do my ancestry DNA? And yes, maybe my mixed dog’s too because clearly we’re both wondering who we really are. What if I cook recipes I haven’t touched in years? The ones written on cards, half-faded, that smell like memory the moment the pan gets warm?

What if I seek out old connections not because they’re comfortable, but because they’re foundational?

There’s something psychologically powerful about revisiting. We often think growth only happens forward. New job. New city. New chapter. But sometimes growth happens when you return as someone who now understands more. When you see the same place through wiser eyes.

Even the idea of writing such as the autobiography, the book about nonprofits I’ve been circling for years, feels like this. Not a new story, but “my” story. Reclaimed. Told with perspective instead of urgency.

This year feels like a year of reclaiming. Yes!
Reclaiming roots.
Reclaiming stories.
Reclaiming parts of myself that got set aside while I was busy doing, leading, surviving, building.

This isn’t about living in the past. It’s about gathering it. Keeping what still fits, honoring what shaped me, and letting it fuel what comes next.

Joy taught me how to protect my light. This year, I want to remember where that light came from.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s how the next chapter writes itself.