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On New Year's Eve I played and won my first game of Euchre—a Midwestern rite of passage, I'm told. New Year's Day was spent in work clothes, wading through the debris of 20-person Christmas/New Year festivities. Hot chocolate splotches on the once-ashen sofa, tortilla chip shards in the fibers of everything. Wrapping paper crumpled, crammed in every receptacle save the trash can.

Jan. 2nd was spent in work clothes, too, only this time I wore a name tag. Baaaaaack in the saddle. And the chafing reminded me that the school calendar, a guiding hand which had given shape to the majority of my life, had withdrawn.

2026 is the first year in a long time untouched by syllabi, GPAs, or final exams. In its place is the nine-to-five leash—employee handbooks, KPIs, quarterly meetings—around my neck, sometimes guiding but oftentimes dragging me along, loosening and tightening the cadence of the days.

There are no more graduation carrots. No more matriculation sticks.

It's neither new nor profound insight, I know… Perfect for a microblog!