Autonomous, Apparently

Photo courtesy of Gratisography

Monday, January 5th, 2026

I’ve always thought having a word of the year was kind of dumb.
There are millions of words. Hundreds of languages. And I’m supposed to crown one and let it boss me around for twelve months?

Anyway.
My 2026 word of the year is “Autonomous”.

This is gonna need a sticker chart.

This is not new information, apparently. In the first semester of my first college degree, my speech teacher asked what we wanted to be when we grew up. My answer was “autonomous.”

When I was twelve, it was “a clown.”
So. Growth.

Anytime a self-development article tells me to think back to what I wanted to be as a child, I land here. Eighteen feels close enough to “child”. And in my newly recommitted state of autonomy, my opinion is the only one that matters.

The real reason I’m buying into a word this year is simpler: I’m disgruntled.
Not in a dramatic, table-flipping way. Just… persistently. There are a lot of things in my world that feel unsatisfactory, and a small, precise handful that bring actual joy.

Watching Wally pin a snuffle ball that’s bigger than his head between his paws and excavate it for treats.
Watching Willow attempt to carry the same ball - in her mouth - even though it weighs a meaningful percentage of her body mass.

Competence. Determination. Delusion. Icons, honestly.

Here’s what “autonomous” technically means:

– having the freedom to govern oneself
– self-governing
– independent
– having the power to make one’s own decisions
– existing or acting separately
– making decisions without constant reassurance

That last one really gets me.

I’ve been alone in the house for the past two weeks. It’s been calm. Quiet. Reasonably clean. I cleared off most of the horizontal surfaces, which turns out to be easier when it’s only your own stuff screaming for attention. The pillows are organized and only slightly misshapen from Willow’s naps.

Nothing is yelling on the TV.
No video game gunshots.
No flashing lights.

My nervous system has been recalibrating. I assume it will absolutely lose its mind when things go back to normal, but for now, it’s… regulated. Or at least pretending.

This time next week I’ll be on a train from NYC to Pennsylvania to see my brother. There’s business to take care of out there. It could be pivotal. I’m keeping things intentionally vague because I don’t want to jinx anything, but

please know: I am deeply a-flutter.

In a very different but somehow related category, I accidentally overfunded my 2025 FSA and had to panic-spend it before the year ended. One of the things I bought was an Oura ring with optional glucose monitoring. Diabetes runs in my family, I’ve been flirting with pre-diabetic numbers, and my recent diet could politely be described as “carb-forward.”

I’ve had the ring for three days. Already, it’s doing the thing I secretly crave: showing me cause and effect. Eat this, feel that. Sleep poorly, pay for it immediately. Drink water, improve literally everything. I don’t need motivation. I need feedback.

I’ve also been going to the gym. “Going” is doing a lot of work in that sentence. Sometimes I lift. Sometimes I just show up, wander around, and sit in the sauna like a Victorian woman prescribed fresh air. But the practice of going matters. Momentum counts, even when the enthusiasm is missing.

This year is starting to feel like quite the adventure-in-the-making.

Every time I move toward something, a thousand other things I didn’t know I could want fly directly at my face. It’s scary. It’s exhilarating. It’s exhausting.

I would like to be the kind of person who is less easily overwhelmed.
I would like to move faster, with more confidence.
I would like to stop paralyzing myself with overthinking disguised as preparedness.

Autonomy, I’m realizing, isn’t about doing everything alone. It’s about being able to hear yourself think. Choosing deliberately instead of reacting constantly. Having enough internal quiet to notice when something is wrong — or right — and trusting that signal.

There are a lot of feelings happening right now. Some of them are fear. Some of them are hope. Some of them are my joints reminding me I am not twenty-five anymore. All of them are information.

So yes. I’ve chosen a word.
Not as a rule. Not as a mandate.
More like a direction of travel.

Autonomous.
Making decisions with less noise.
Moving without constant input.
Holding my own weight — even if I look ridiculous doing it.

Like Willow.
With the snuffle ball.

Stay Gritty