The Joy List, 2026
A small act of resistance and remembering.
Last week marked the Lunar New Year, and I’m using it as my excuse to finally share a post I meant to write last month. In 2024, I made a Joy List and promised myself I would make one every year. Alas, here I am at the end of February 2026, fretting about a promise that no one else is keeping track of except silly old me.
Back in January, I decided I wouldn’t make any resolutions this year. We were in Switzerland for Christmas and New Year, and the mood felt heavy. My husband was in the difficult process of clearing out his mother’s apartment after moving her into assisted living as her dementia progressed. The children were unsettled watching their grandmother’s rapid decline. The news felt relentlessly gloomy. And we were there as the tragedy in Crans Montana unfolded and so many young lives were lost.
All of it settled on me, and I had a hard time shaking the heaviness of it as I moved into the year. I had a deep desire for my year to begin lightly. I needed things to feel easy, without being weighed down by obligations or expectations. That first week of January, I even resisted the pull back into scheduling lunches, meetings, or anything that took more than 20 minutes on my calendar. I know I am not alone in that feeling, right? That intense craving for simplicity and space?
Resolutions feel like the opposite of simple to me. How many years in a row can I promise myself that I will exercise more and save money? There are so many steps required to fulfill those ridiculous promises. And yet, I do believe in the importance of setting intentions. I am sure there is some old proverb about needing a roadmap for your journey in life. I just could not do it this year. In my quest for a softer start, I decided to focus on what I wanted more of in my life and shared it on Instagram. It was more gatherings, more treasure hunting, more searching for beauty, more joie, and more learning to simply be.
But back to the Joy List. I genuinely loved making one in 2024, and the beauty of it is that you can create one at any time of year. There is something powerful, and maybe necessary, about taking stock of what is so easy to forget. I think about this often now as my mother-in-law’s dementia robs her of her memories. I imagine how comforting it would be to her if she lived closer, and if my husband and the children could sit with her, looking at old photos and reading lists of joyful memories and shared adventures. Perhaps this difficult season could be softened by reminders of the good days. I wish I had done more of that with my own grandmother, who also suffered from dementia in Texas while I was living in New York City.
Maybe that is why I am especially drawn to this practice. We need reminders. Last week on Instagram, I shared that we have a little brass antique trunk at home. At the end of each week, the kids and I write down one thing that brought us joy and drop it inside. My plan is to open it in the days leading up to New Year’s Eve and read through a year’s worth of small, beautiful moments. But we can also open it anytime, especially on a hard day when we are spiraling into doom and gloom.
There is something called negativity bias, the psychological phenomenon in which we tend to notice, remember, and give more weight to negative experiences than positive ones. It is so easy to fall into. One critical comment outweighs ten compliments. Heavy news eclipses small daily joys. It would be very easy for me to summarize last week as exhausting and frustrating. My daughter got into big trouble for her attitude. There was a leak in my new office. My neighbor partied until 7 am two nights in a row. It rained every single day.
But because I have started documenting the beauty and joy in my week, I can also see something else. I began the week with my college best friend in town. My best friend from grad school came for a quick two-day visit. We hosted a Lunar New Year feast with friends. My daughter getting in trouble led to a deep bonding moment between us. The leak in my writing office forced me to discover a beautiful new co-working spot with a friend. Without writing these things down, it would be far too easy to categorize the week as a bad one. I should probably remember this bias when motherhood and married life are getting on my nerves.
The last year was not a perfect or extraordinary one. If negativity bias pulls us toward what went wrong, then this list is my small act of resistance, a deliberate remembering of what went right.
So before you scroll, before you rush on to the next thing, consider this your invitation to pause. Grab a notebook. Open notes on your phone. Resist. Remember. Reflect. Take a few minutes to write your own joy list.
Below is mine, shared in the hope that it encourages you to begin yours.
Happy Lunar New Year. And for those who don’t love winter, hold on. Only one month left.
Here is the list for you to copy, paste, and make your own. You do not have to answer every prompt. Choose the ones that resonate. Skip the ones that don’t. Add your own if something else comes to mind. Or just make a list of everything great that happened to you or that you enjoyed last year. Then scroll down, because I am sharing my responses as well.
What brought me joy recently…
A film that pulled out all the emotions:
A television show that I couldn’t stop talking about:
A book I devoured or savored slowly:
A podcast episode I shared or replayed:
An article or essay that made me think:
An exhibition or museum visit that inspired me:
A restaurant I am still thinking about:
A café where I lingered longer than planned:
A place I traveled that filled me up:
A meal I cooked that surprised me:
A gathering or dinner party that felt special:
A concert or cultural outing that moved me:
A quiet morning or solo moment I want to remember:
A conversation that stayed with me:
Something my child or a friend said that made me pause:
A small win I am proud of:
A table I loved setting:
A song or album I had on repeat:
A beautiful object I found or rediscovered:
A view that made me stop and take it in:
A message that meant more than expected:
A person who showed up for me:
Something new I learned about the world or myself:
A quote I carried with me:
A film that pulled out all the emotions: Rewatching Sister Act 2 with my kids. It sent me straight down memory lane, telling them how my 8th-grade crew was obsessed with Lauryn Hill and watched this movie a zillion times so we could dress like the kids and sing every song. They complained that the beginning was boring, but by the end they were up on their feet singing “Oh Happy Day,” belting “Joyful, Joyful, Lord We Adore You,” and attempting the rap scene. I felt very cool.
A television show that I couldn’t stop talking about: Motherland. I know it came out ages ago and has already been cancelled, but I just discovered it. The physical comedy had me cracking up. It was messy and hilarious and painfully relatable. I was in stitches during the lice, pool, and birthday party episodes.
A book I devoured or savored slowly: This summer I tore through Jo Piazza’s The Sicilian Inheritance and Everyone Is Lying to You. The suspense had me up at 6am reading to find out who did what.
A podcast episode I shared or replayed: “We Have to Really Rethink the Purpose of Education” on The Ezra Klein Show , “Dr. Galit Atlas on the Creativity Hidden Inside Our Emotional Inheritance” on On Being with Zeva Bellel, and “New Romantics: Lauren Collins and Gerard & Kelly” on Chanel Connects. I actually paused these podcasts several times to take notes.
An article or essay that made me think: “Why Is Shopping an Abyss of Blah?” by Robin Givhan in The New York Times. It made me reflect on how personal taste and style are often replaced by copying what we see on social media instead of cultivating what we truly connect with. Desire and discernment feel rarer these days. Also, “Finding Light in Winter,” an older 2023 piece by Mary Pipher that I rediscovered last year, was a touching read as I was complaining my way through last winter. (I have linked gift articles).
An exhibition or museum visit that inspired me: Paris Noir at the Centre Pompidou with my brother last summer, the final show before renovations. And Louvre Couture, which pulled me back into the Louvre, a place I tend to avoid because of the crowds.
A restaurant I am still thinking about: Le Cheval d’Or and Septime were two of my favorite dining experiences last year. The reservations are so complicated to snag that it almost heightens the pleasure. You never quite know when you will get to have it again, so I savor every bite. I also loved my meal at Alluma so much that I went twice in one month and luckily this is an easier reservation to secure.
A café where I lingered longer than planned: Every café I wander into in Paris. #cafelife
A place I traveled to that filled me up: My solo writing trips to Trouville and Tournus, a short trip to Tuscany to visit a friend’s new farm and watch the kids run wild, picking vegetables from her garden and soaking up all the nature and space. And Croatia with the family.
A meal I cooked that surprised me: Williams Sonoma baby back ribs with citrus barbecue sauce for a rodeo-themed party. Just as juicy and flavorful as when I first made them ten years ago. I will be busting this one out again really soon. (Recipe for US readers only here. )
A gathering or dinner party that felt special: Thanksgiving this year felt extra special. We invited a French friend who had never experienced Thanksgiving before, and he was genuinely moved by it all. When we went around the table sharing what we were grateful for, adults and kids together, there were quite a few tears. And then, naturally, we got wild with the games.
I loved that the kids stayed with us, fully involved in the dancing and the chaos instead of disappearing into a bedroom. I honestly did not want the night to end.
I also hosted an intimate gathering of women before Thanksgiving where we shared poems and words of encouragement. The part I cannot stop thinking about is my 12-year-old daughter insisting on being part of it, even when I tried to shoo her off to her room. She read her own poem and sang for the group. It felt so tender, especially since everyone keeps warning me that soon she will not want anything to do with me.
A concert or cultural outing that moved me: Finally taking Kévi Donat’s Le Paris Noir tour. I learned so much about Black history in France. Before this, most of what I knew centered around African Americans in Paris. It expanded my mind in such an important way.
A quiet morning or solo moment I want to remember: I love getting up early, so there are many. But I especially loved waking up in Croatia, stepping outside at 6am with my book. The sun was already bright, the water crazy blue, and no one needed anything from me. Heaven.
A conversation that stayed with me: My daughter has told me a few times that she is having a hard time transitioning into adolescence. I never had guidance when I went through that stage, so I sometimes feel unsure of what to say. But it moves me deeply that she feels safe enough to tell me. Even if I do not have the answers, at least we are in it together. I am currently reading a book to help me navigate this season and will report back.
Something my child or a friend said that made me pause: Baz asked me why I always look like I am wearing a bed sheet. 🙁 It is a kaftan, kid!!! Get it right. It’s fashun baby.
Also, driving through Portugal listening to Hamilton front to back and having to pull over when Burr shoots Hamilton because Baz was crying so hard. I was not prepared for that level of emotion coming from a 9-year-old in the back seat.
A small win I am proud of: It does not feel small, but the day I officially closed the online store and cried my eyeballs out was the very same day a routine check-in call with my agent and editor turned into an unexpected book deal. Truly, the door closed and another one opened. On the same day.
A table I loved setting: Honestly, every table I set brings me joy. I open my closet, which is stuffed to the gills, and decide what direction I want to play in. It always feels like creative dress-up. I can’t think of one I loved more than another this past year.
A song or album I had on repeat: The Bridgerton soundtracks, everything by Mon Rovia, Olivia Dean, Tems, “You Are Enough” by Sleeping At Last, and “All My Love,” by Coldplay.
A beautiful object I found or rediscovered: I did not buy it this year, but I pulled it back out this winter: my hot pink vintage Yves Saint Laurent coat from Brune Vintage. I have been wearing it multiple times a week because it brings me so much joie.
A view that made me stop and take it in: Anytime I see my two kiddos hug or throw their arms around one another. It feels like a rare and beautiful pause in the usual Tom and Jerry sibling saga.
A message that meant more than expected: The sweet DMs from strangers that remind me that the things I do, write, create, and say may feel like normal work to me, but can be inspiring or deeply touching to someone I may never meet. And the handwritten cards from friends and my children that immediately activate my tear ducts. I save every single one.
A person who showed up for me: I have the greatest group of friends. Some are newer, formed in the last decade in Paris, but we have fused together in a way that feels deep and lasting. They show up. Over and over again.
Something new I learned about the world or myself: I learned that my “condition” of surviving on 5–6 hours of sleep a night might be perimenopause… or maybe I am part of the rare 1 percent of humans who simply do not need much sleep? Apparently, that is a real thing. Read all about it.
A quote I carried with me: “Every day look at a beautiful picture, read a beautiful poem, listen to some beautiful music, and if possible, say some reasonable thing.” -Goethe
Thank you for reading and for pausing to reflect with me. If you have additional prompts we should add to our Joy Lists, send them my way or share them in the comments. I love a shared ritual. À bientôt, darlings. xx
Just reading this made me happy. I can't imagine how good I'm going to feel when I sit down and fill this out for myself.
Beautiful! I need more of your particular brand of joie, dear Ajiri. 💕One year I made a list of all the people I wanted to see, places I wanted to go, and things I wanted to do. It was the best, no goals, no striving, just pure joy. It allowed me to see a friend one last time before he passed, to go to Berlin just to see a Barry Kosky production and to go in my first yoga retreat. 💕✨