When my mother died in March of 2024, she left behind a stack of crossword puzzle books. She liked doing them in the evenings while watching TV, if she didn’t have her hands busy with a crochet project.

My older sister (who lived with her) offered me the stack and as I also enjoy a good crossword from time to time, I took them. I’ve been slowly working my way through them. (Hopefully this is not TMI but I keep them in the bathroom and as I work from home I’m able to get through about one a day.) I’m currently working my way through a big thick book of 700 puzzles and I’m more than halfway through.

A couple of weeks ago I turned the page and found one that was half done.

So.

The book stayed paused on this one for a long time.

I didn’t quite know what to do with it, honestly. I felt a little sad, but mostly I had a sudden sense of how much I might myself leave half-done and incomplete in this world.

I feel like I have so much work left to do. And by that, I don’t mean actual work, the kind that pays money. I mean the work of learning who I am. The work of learning about other cultures, other people’s lives on this planet we share. The work of finding joy in a million new experiences, skills, and stories.

The work of living, that is to say.

I am not afraid of death; I always imagine myself quietly thinking to myself, my work here is done, and finding relief in letting go of any duties and obligations for good.

But I am afraid of leaving anything on the floor that could have been tasted, touched, smelt, seen, heard. I am afraid of not sucking every last bit of glory from this amazing place while I can.

In the end, I decided to finish the puzzle. It’s half her work, half mine. When I am gone, perhaps someone (my kids, I hope) will pick up the work of living that I leave behind. Will take my example and find their own joy.

I have tucked the finished puzzle away now for safekeeping – a little piece of my mom. One last lesson in the precious nature of life.

I’ll keep working away at living, Mom; don’t you worry now, your work is done.

I went a little crazy at Black Friday sales this year.

On one hand, they were very convenient for Christmas shopping deals, and I picked up a new vacuum I had my eye on for a song, which was great.

But also, this week I had to make a little spreadsheet of incoming packages so I could track them all, and while I was setting it up I realized: this is too much.

The problem is that I am more susceptible than I would like to admit to Instagram ads. It’s easy for me to scroll past it the first time, the second time, the fifth time. But by the tenth time, I’m starting to think, “DO I need compression socks?” and by the 15th time I’m thinking, “They say they would be good for long flights, and I do take long flights sometimes,” and by the 20th time I’m thinking, “I’ll just click this link to take a look” and next thing I know, it’s in my cart because it’s 20% off and I just want to see how much shipping will be, and then it’s just one more click to confirm with Google Pay or Shop Pay, and BAM, another thing to add to the spreadsheet.

I remember when I was in my 20s, my father-in-law sometimes bought things off the shopping channel on TV. He enjoyed watching it and maybe once a month would actually pick up the phone to buy. I was so full of hubris then; I thought he was a sucker at best and irresponsible at managing his money at worst. You’d never find me shopping from the shopping channel! I could never be seduced by those heavily made up women with their shrill enthusiasm, those chit-chatty men with their endless stream of nonsense patter! I was smart, savvy, cool.

And now here we are. I have realized, thanks to my Black Friday spreadsheet, I have arrived at the modern day same place.

Just as I was already having these thoughts, this interesting article popped up on my Twitter feed (of course, because my phone always knows what I’m thinking) about how social media has become a marketplace. Not only are we as consumers constantly bombarded with ads, but those who create content on those platforms are under pressure to constantly showcase new products, new things they have purchased, reviews of stuff you can buy, because that’s where the majority of engagement comes from. If you want to make a career out of being an influencer, your job is one of consumption, constant consumption, glorification of shopping above all. It’s messy and kind of ugly on both sides.

I remember when my kids first got Instagram and we talked a lot about how to protect your personal information, but one thing that surprised me was that they didn’t really care about The All-Knowing Algorithm – because they wanted to see ads that were relevant to them. They wanted to know about the latest video game and latest toys and latest fashions from their fave brands. They didn’t want to see ads for vacuums or comfy bras or compression socks. And at first, I agreed with them; Instagram and Facebook and Twitter and TikTok always seemed to know just want I wanted to buy. The perfect thing! Thanks, social media!

But now I realize: I don’t actually need most of that stuff. And even if I do, it’s just way too easy to impulse buy with a click-click, easy to justify as it’s on sale or two-for-one or limited time only.

It takes active choice to say no. It takes a lot of self-awareness to not buy stuff out of boredom. It takes intentionality to set aside any wants and make sure they are needs.

So this is my goal for 2026. Don’t suggest I spend less time on social media, as I know myself, and that isn’t going to happen. But for this coming year, at least, I promise to surf with intention, to pause before buying, to put away the spreadsheet because it won’t be needed. I shall fight back against the worst sides of capitalism, I shall engage only with personal posts made with sincerity.

(I will, however, also get lot of joy out of vacuuming.)

This is my word of 2026: intention. Not just for online shopping and social media, but for how I spend my personal time, my money, my thoughts, my energy. With planning, with care, and with deliberate goals.

What’s your word of the year?

Today I turn 55, and it’s safe to say the Lynn of just five years ago wouldn’t recognize me now. Life has, to put it mildly, changed.

And it’s so busy! I feel like I’m supposed to be settling in, hunkering down for the incoming winter of my life. But exciting new things keep coming up, and I cannot pass them up, so it’s been a flurry of this and that and the other thing.

For example:

I recently went to Tokyo for two weeks, one for work, and one to travel on my own. It was my first true solo trip and it was amazing. I loved everything – the peace of the temples, the neon lights of the big squares, the unique food, the pretty pretty things you can buy.

But what really impressed me was how safe I felt. Not only because Tokyo is a very safe city, but because I felt confident. I navigated around myself, I went places day and night by myself in all types of weather. I got lost, but never panicked. I have become my own safe space, is what I mean.

My BTS book came out about two weeks ago (in Europe; it’s only available for pre-order here in North America at the moment but will be out soon – info here if you’re looking for it). I’ve been busy doing online giveaways and promotions and reaching out to local businesses to see if they want to partner. Some have been wins, some have been losses. Don’t ask me how sales are going, because I don’t know. But I can tell you this: it’s awesome to be driving this bus myself, to be the one putting myself out there. To have the safe space within my own mind and heart to say, “hey, I wrote this, and it’s pretty good.”

But sometimes a safe space is a literal, physical space. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, because when my youngest moved out in the fall I considered downsizing. But the kids are still coming and going at the moment, and this house is a safe space for them, so it stays for now.

Aside: it’s kind of funny how I kind of thought I’d be able to check “parenting” off a to-do list like it was finished. I’m finding they still need a parent, they still need the safe space of my house and home and heart. We’re moving our relationship into new places, but parenting is still a very active role, which is lovely and touching and tiring and joyous all at once.

Recently I was talking to my youngest daughter, Little Miss Sunshine. (Is it time to give them more adult nicknames? I find I cannot, much as I cannot replace the Christmas stockings I made them as babies that feature things like stuffed animals and toy cars and soccer balls.) She was saying how the hardest thing about being away at university is that there’s no place to cry. As she has a roommate, and has a shared bathroom, there’s no privacy, no place to really feel that emotional safety that lets you fully relax and release the hard feelings.

On my first university work term, I had a place like that and I hadn’t thought about it since we chatted about this. I was nineteen and working in Toronto – The Big City – for the first time and while I had my own room, it was in a shared house with several roommates.

When I needed that safe space feeling, I went to Eaton’s in the Eaton Centre. It was a huge department store at one end of the mall. While the mall was only three floors tall, Eaton’s itself went up higher – I think they had 7 floors – so the upper Eaton’s floors were isolated from the rest of the mall. The very top floor was the toy floor, and in the back corner of the toy floor they had a whole room just for stuffed animals that was separate, you could actually close the door. I used to get myself a snack and bring a book and go to that room, which I thought of as a kind of personal office space. No one was ever on the floor; the dozens of times I went there, I never saw a single other person in that room. It’s a such a pleasant, cozy memory; the safest of spaces for me to hide.

So I understood, and felt for Little Miss Sunshine, and we talked about some potential safe spaces she could find for herself. It’s a life-long process though; finding your safe spaces, your safe people, and most of all, your own safety within yourself.

I think I might be getting there.

I live alone now.

It’s not a sad thing, although I do miss my three kids, who are three truly fantastic people (said with complete objectivity). They are out in the world now, doing their own thing, and I could not be prouder. We keep in touch, mostly through randomly timed texts in which I deliver HUGE AND URGENT NEWS about how…

I have discovered that Walmart now carries Squishmallow cereal, or…

I scored new stickers for my Marvel sticker book from the lady in front of me in line at the Superstore, or…

I found a Snoop Dogg doll crochet kit at the bookstore that I am fighting with myself to not buy…

You know, the important things.

But despite the quiet in the evenings around here – which is sometimes a little too quiet, even for me, who prizes quiet above all – I am looking forward to this new chapter.

I feel like my life has been in thirds…

Young Lynn learning what it takes to survive…

Mom Lynn learning what makes a home…

And now Old Lynn (hm… perhaps we shall say, Mature Lynn?) learning what the wide world has to offer.

I have plans, and projects, and a busy job that takes me to exciting new places. I have a thousand possibilities to explore and I want to explore every one of them.

In a way, I feel brand new again. As much as my three kids are starting a new phase of life, I am too. Who will I become in this new age? What thrilling things will I dare to see or hear or make? Will I actually make a dent in the pile of books by my bedside, will I finally learn to speak Korean, will I finish that embroidery kit that lives on the coffee table?

It’s quiet, but it’s a busy quiet. Things are simmering just below the surface, ready to be created or constructed or simply contemplated in peace. There’s no pressure, just a constant soft buzz of anticipation. I’ve got the time to really live the hell out of this next chapter.

I live alone, but adventure rides shotgun. Let’s see how far we can go, shall we?

I still find it hard to believe this is really happening, but I got the cover today, so I guess I can let you all know now.

I spent a large portion of 2024 writing a book, and now it’s in the final editing stages, and should be out in October.

The book is about the Korean band BTS – it’s part of a series this publisher has where the author is a fan of a band, and takes the reader through a deep dive into every song they have released (so far). My book is crazy long but also doesn’t even cover all of BTS’ songs – they’ve released over 250 as a group, plus maybe another 150 as solo artists just in the past three years, and my publisher wanted a book about BTS but not an Encyclopedia Series on BTS, so it is what it is.

But there’s a lot of songs in there, and some good stories, and I’m proud of it.

It’s a British publisher so I’m not sure how widespread hard copies will be, but it should be orderable from Amazon. More updates soon!

My youngest graduates from high school in a few weeks. This is her prom dress:

She wanted something with sleeves, and all the formalwear shops only carry things with no sleeves. She loves thrifting anyway, and we found this 70s era gown at Darling Vintage downtown. (For $8.)

It’s so perfect and I love it so much for her. It’s dreamy and romantic and wistful and unique. She looks gorgeous in it, but she tells her own stories online these days so I’ll let her share that view.

It appears to be handmade, custom-made for someone years ago, and yet it fits her almost exactly. Perhaps at 17, everything fits exactly, like some kind of Sisterhood of the Travelling Vintage Dress.

It did require a few small modifications, and I was adjusting the inner slip to have a bit more freedom for walking the other night when it hit me: I miss my mom.

I didn’t cry much when she died. Even though I cry so easily at commercials and Broadway musicals and paper cuts, I rarely cry when it’s something real. Self-protection, I suppose.

And I already lived hours away from her, so I can easily go about my day-to-day without noticing that anything is missing.

But while I was sewing the soft silk lining of this prom dress I realized how much my mom would have loved to see it. How she would have had some confident and excellent advice for making the adjustments. How she would have sent my daughter a selection of four or five cute evening bags to choose from, just because.

Sometimes – a lot of times, frankly – I think I was too soft on my kids as they grew up. I asked for very little from them, I wanted their childhood to be a magic fairyland of joy and fun and learning cool new stuff. And now they sometimes struggle with discomfort, especially my oldest who can’t seem to make the connection between sometimes-hard, sometimes-boring, all the way through to eventually-awesome.

But I guess I wouldn’t make different choices, if I had to do it over again. Because more than anything, I think I showed them what unconditional love really looks like. I hope they know I have their back in any circumstances, and would never think less of them for any show of weakness.

It’s only now that she is gone that I realize my mother was in my corner, too. Maybe not as soft, but just as loyal. It’s a tough thing to imagine going the rest of my life without that cushion.

Time for a good cry, I think.

Lately I have been thinking about God.

Hopefully this will not offend too many readers when I say I don’t believe in organized religion in any way. It is too often used to Other people. To say, “This is what I believe, and people who don’t believe that are Simply Wrong.” To feel the need to exterminate other points of view, other ideas about how the world works, other ways of worshipping, just because your own faith is too fragile to stand up to questioning, too dogmatic to allow for change.

I went to church as a child (the United Church, which is a Canadian Protestant church that is about as liberal and open minded as you can get), but I stopped going as a teenager. As a woman of science, I sometimes marvel at the magical way the world works, the almost incredible synergy of life on this planet. But I haven’t believed in one all-powerful being controlling my fate or having all the answers to the past, present, and future, in a long time.

Here is what I believe.

I believe we’re all in this together. I believe every person is doing the best they can with what they have and what they know. I believe most people will choose good over evil if it is at all possible. I believe in being as generous as possible with people’s motivations, to try to understand other points of view, to be kind when people are, as humans often are, tense or sad or hungry or afraid or mistaken.

I believe in sharing what we have so that every person can have a basic standard of living. I pay my taxes and I would pay more if asked. I would give up luxuries I am able to enjoy like vacations and The Really Good Cheese and my massive BTS DVD collection if it meant others could have food or clean water or shelter. I believe there will always be some people who try to “work the system” to get more than what they deserve, and I think the majority of people who do this are on the rich end of the system, not the poor end. I think the risk of being exploited sometimes, by some people, in order to help the majority, is worth it.

I believe maximum access to education, books, reading, and history is critical to make sure this world keeps turning and improving. I have (wavering) faith that somehow, the younger generations who grew up with the internet will find a way to separate truth from lies, and act in a way that embraces, rather than shuts out. I believe that elevating women to positions of power is a benchmark for how peaceful and enlightened a society is.

I believe that people who are struggling with drug addiction and homelessness do not choose this as a lifestyle. I believe they deserve whatever support we can offer while they figure out their lives, whether that is injection sites or shelters or access to mental health support when the police intervene. I believe in gun control. I believe that if I hear just one more goddamn time about a school shooting in the United States, where it is easier to deal with your anger and hatred and despair by buying a gun than it is to get access to mental health care, I might start screaming and never stop.

This should go without saying, but I believe that any two people (or three, or four, if it comes to that) can love each other, and be each other’s Person, and trust each other to share the difficult and beautiful journey that is parenthood, and it doesn’t have anything to do with their body’s physical parts. I believe that labels can come in handy for learning who you are and finding people who are like you, but that they can often be restrictive. I believe that even if we take the binary boxes of “man,” “woman,” “straight” and “gay”, and add a hundred more boxes in between, it’s still separating us into segments, and people don’t work that way. Humanity is a rainbow, is what I’m saying, and it would be good to embrace that not just in society, but in ourselves as well.

I believe true love and unquestionable trust are one and the same. I believe I have found that with a surprisingly high number of people in my life. I believe I am lucky to live in this wonderful, flawed, delightful world and I hope to be here for as long as I possibly can.

We moved houses when Gal Smiley, my middle kid, was just five weeks old, and my oldest, Captain Jelly Belly, was a year-and-a-half. So I was very pregnant, and also taking care of a toddler, and faced with having to pack our entire house.

I couldn’t pack up much in advance because having a kid in the house means you need a lot of stuff on a daily basis. With just a few weeks until Gal Smiley’s birth to get it all done, I was SO TIRED. I’d go into a room and immediately get overwhelmed with how much stuff there was, and then I couldn’t get started because it was TOO MUCH, and then I’d just go nap and nothing would get done.

This was when I invented the “You touch it, you pack it” approach.

This is how it works:

Assemble a box.

Go into a room that has stuff that needs packing.

Reach out your hand and touch something, anything.

Put it in the box.

There’s no thinking about what makes the most sense to group together, or how to get things into boxes in the most efficient manner. There’s no creative thought about how to best cushion things or take advantage of little nooks and crannies of space, or time spent trying to find the right size box for the right items.

You touch it, you pack it.

And in this manner, it eventually got done. We probably ended up with many more boxes than needed. We probably ended up taking twice as long unpacking as everything ended up in a jumble and who knows what was where and in what room.

But our stuff got packed. And it arrived at the new house. And we all lived.

I am surprised at how often I still find myself chanting this phrase to myself when things get overwhelming. Like, I just got home last night from New York City – I drove there, went to two back-to-back concerts, then drove home, and not gonna lie, I’m getting too old for that kind of college-level bullshit. (It was SUCH A GOOD TIME though, OMG.)

When I got home, the house was a shambles. I’d left little piles of everything all over the place while packing. There were clean dishes to put away, loads of laundry to do. Even now I look around me and every table surface is covered with books/ papers/ toiletries/ dishes/ embroidery/ cookies…

It’s overwhelming.

Today’s motto: You touch it, you clean it.

It’s not the most efficient, it’s not the easiest, it’s not the best. But it’ll work, and it’ll get you there.

Me: Man, I keep gaining weight. It must be perimenopause.

Meanwhile, the entirety of today’s food intake:

• three cups of tea with cream
• chocolate chip muffin
• package of arrowroot cookies
• giant bag of popcorn
• crepe with ice cream, cotton candy, and melted chocolate

Life is such a mystery sometimes.