How often did we brush off what our parents told us?
Wrote it off as overprotectiveness, outdated thinking, or just plain nonsense? How often did we believe we knew better?
One lesson I heard over and over was that life passes quickly. It never felt true when I was a curiosity-driven kid who could stretch a single afternoon into a whole adventure. But now, as I flip to January 2026 on my desk calendar, I’m suddenly aware that I graduated nearly three years ago and that I’m not far from the age where people joke about a quarter-life crisis. Turns out, they weren’t lying. Lately, I’ve also been thinking about how fragile life really is.
My mom visited over Thanksgiving this year — something we’ve never done before for the holidays. We rented a small “cottage” (that was the word Airbnb used, though I’m not quite sure it really qualified as one) just outside of Columbia and spent a few days watching movies on the projector she brought, crafting, and bingeing on our Thanksgiving leftovers. It was simple, slow, and unexpectedly healing.
On one of our drives into town, she mentioned how much can change in just a decade — and we began counting. Two uncles. An aunt. A grandfather. A grandmother. Several cousins of hers. Friends who felt like family. All gone. Many of them were under sixty.
And then, just days after this conversation, we learned that another family member had died unexpectedly at fifty-nine. Only a month earlier, I’d read that an old classmate of mine passed away at just twenty-three due to a medical emergency.
When we picture our final years, we like to imagine ourselves as soft and wrinkled, smelling faintly of cookies, carefully handwriting birthday cards, and signing them with a gentle XOXO. It’s sobering to realize how fragile life and health can be, no matter our age. But the truth is that longevity isn’t guaranteed. And as proud as I am of the person I’ve become and the milestones I’ve reached, I also know that I want to be more intentional about my own well-being — not someday, but now.
Not everyone is lucky enough to grow old. Not everyone gets the luxury of “later.” And that’s why health and wellness matter, in all their forms. Caring for your body. Caring for your mind. Caring for the relationships that anchor you. Choosing work that doesn’t drain your spirit. Finding movement you enjoy. Eating meals that nourish you — and sometimes meals that simply bring you joy. Paying attention to the habits that make you feel genuinely well, not just “healthy” by someone else’s definition.
We don’t get to control how long we have, but we can choose how we care for ourselves with the time we’re given. Let’s make the most of it. Cheers to 2026, and please enjoy our “Health & Wellness” issue!
