insight Archives - Julianne Harvey

In December, I like to take some time to look back over the year and reflect. Normally, this feels peaceful and inspiring. This year, not so much. It feels like searching through shit, hoping to find a bit of elusive gold to make the process worthwhile.

I wish the news weren’t so bleak. I find myself longing for a pre-fascist world, one where common sense, intelligence, kindness, and decency are valued again. Where generative AI is a pipe dream, not the digital asbestos we have now that infects everything and costs a fortune and makes cheating easy and weakens our human connection to art and creativity.

But there are good things, too. My kids coming home from university to spend a couple weeks under the same roof as Jason and I again, after spending this entire fall grieving for the end of the beautiful stage that was raising our family. William has a new girlfriend, so we’ve been getting to know her, and experiencing that unique phenomenon where your heart can stretch to include someone who wasn’t there before.

For 2025, I decided to not publish anything. I made it a year to focus on a new writing project, my murder mystery novel A Body at the Fair, which I hoped to finish by December. I haven’t finished, but it’s okay. One of the best things about being an independent publisher is that I can be flexible with my scheduling. I don’t have an agent asking when I’ll be turning in my book, or an imprint setting a date and holding me to that deadline.

When I watched the limited series Task this fall and did a rewatch of Mare of Easttown, by the same creator, I remembered that good work takes time. Our culture has become obsessed with speed and commerce—the endless rush to market so someone can make money. But I’d prefer to invest in work that will outlive me, that has a chance to stand the test of time, and offer hope or inspiration or meaning to others for generations to come. That type of vision takes time and intention, so I’m offering those gifts to myself.

My overall word for 2025 was space. I think I worked hard at this, trying to make space for myself in my relationships, and in the wider world. I offered myself space to simply be human, instead of rushing around trying to check items off my to-do list. I also worked at giving space to others, especially my young-adult kids. My counsellor helped me see that if days go by and I don’t hear from them, it’s not punitive like it was in my family of origin. It’s just a bit of healthy space. If and when we miss one another or need one another, we’ll reach out. This bit of important insight has literally changed my life.

My 3 words for 2025 were deeper, simpler, quieter. I wanted to slow down and catch my breath. Looking back, I can see I did exactly that. I wrote the first half of my murder mystery novel, writing using intuition like with Post Civ instead of outlining and planning, and I’m thrilled with how that book is developing. I got derailed from finishing, when America tilted precariously into white Christian nationalist authoritarian rule and I decided to process my feelings on this by writing a journal as a historical record, but I will return to it in 2026 and eventually finish the book.

I loved having my monthly Ruby Finch Books Substack newsletter and podcast to reflect on each of the words I had chosen. At different points of the year, it’s helpful to have a unique focus to live into. I plan to continue my commitment to living a uniquely human life that prioritizes depth, simplicity, and quiet. These are valuable qualities.

The farther I move away from social media, and the aggressive disinformation campaigns forced on us through open AI, designed to fracture society and spread intentional propaganda, the more human I can become. And I fucking love being human in this misguided and inevitably doomed age of artificial intelligence. What an act of resistance it is to simply lean into my messy flesh and blood existence.

I’m sad that I didn’t finish my screenplay for Jamesy Harper’s Big Break this year, nor did I set up Ruby Finch Pictures as a production company. But there’s time. I’m giving myself space, and an extra measure of compassion, and moving these goals into the next year or even 2027. There’s no shortage of interesting work to do, and I keep reminding myself that a dream I’ve had since I was sixteen can wait another year or more. Living now, through these moments, matters too.

Farewell, 2025. You’ve been a hard one. Maybe 2026 will offer a little more light and hope for my fellow human beings, as we continue to share this one and only precious planet of ours. May love, nurture, and reason become fashionable again next year. Let’s work together to make it so.

Do you ever have one of those times when your reaction is nuts compared to the situation? I’m learning to pay attention to these over-reactions, for my soul is trying to tell me something that I might otherwise ignore or drown out.

Last week I was doing laundry and my dusting cloth fell in the small gap between the washer and the wall. I felt unreasonably frustrated by this tiny mishap. It was as if my psychic house of cards started to wobble and something deep inside of me recognized that I was in serious danger of losing control. I grabbed my daughter’s onesie pajamas and tried several times to cram them in the space and slowly pull them forward to drag the dusting cloth to where I could reach it before the washer drum finished filling.

Nothing. The damn cloth didn’t budge. I leaned awkwardly across the washer, refusing to quit on this rag, but when I sat up sharply I hit my head on the plastic container that holds grocery bags. All hell broke loose. It hurt like a mother and an overwhelming rage bubbled up and spilled out of me. My poor cats fled in the onslaught of such blue language. There I was, hopping around in my laundry room, rubbing my sore head and cussing the world and everyone in it.

I yelled. I swore. I bawled. I finally allowed my anger to have its way; to blow through me like a violent storm.

It had everything and nothing to do with the dusting cloth. This grief was a volcano, simmering safely until the internal temperature is finally too high and now the only option left is to explode. When we run from our feelings they find a way to get our attention. They bring us to our knees.

The pressure builds in us and then demands a release. I felt intense relief at the end of my tantrum (mixed in with gratitude that I was alone in the house except for my two surprised cats). I desperately needed to admit that I was not fine. I was hurting, engaging with my own despised human frailty; afraid, alone, angry as hell. It took a hard bump on the head to bring it all up and out so I could finally let go of it.

We can only control so much. Sometimes we reach the end of our desperate agenda. A “T” forms in our path and we must either hang on or let go. Getting honest about this is the first step, even if this looks like swearing and screeching in your basement. Especially then. It’s never easy to admit that it’s not all about you. As Rob Bell says, “There is something else going on here.”

I’m grateful for that dropped cloth and the subsequent bump on the head. When I calmed down I could sense that I was different in some hard-to-define but nonetheless true way. With a flash of insight, I saw that the broom handle would be the solution for my cloth. In two seconds, it was retrieved and placed in the washer, just in the nick of time.

Most of life is like this, provided we don’t catastrophize into the future. Staying in the present helps us find our solution and remain connected to our true selves so we can figure out what it is we actually need.

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Farewell 2025

How the Soul Speaks