We celebrated New Year’s Eve simply—just the three of us. Jettie asked for her favorite dinner, which we made together, followed by a little chocolate fondue for dessert. Afterward, we headed outside for a soak in the hot tub and then made a quick visit to the steam room. One of the perks of dog-sitting for family with a nice house is stumbling into a little unexpected luxury.
As we sat under the cold night sky, the conversation drifted to our favorite memories of the year. The trips we took. The games we played. The small unforgettable things. We each named a few, and as we did, more and more surfaced. One memory would trigger another, and another—like slowly peeling back a folded map of time.
And somehow, that moment itself—talking about the year as it ended, surrounded by steam and silence and love—quietly became one of my favorite memories of the year. It happened with only hours left.
Watching my daughter grow is a kind of magick I didn’t know existed. But more than watching her—listening to her talk about what she loves, what lights her up, what she remembers—it rearranges me in ways I can’t fully name. Her favorite moments weren’t about toys or treats or time alone. They were about us. Mama. Dada. Together.
There’s a clarity that only a seven-year-old can offer. Not because they’ve figured everything out, but because they haven’t cluttered it all yet. The truth of what matters shows up unfiltered.
That night reminded me of the quiet truth beneath everything I’ve been chasing: love, when shared fully, becomes memory. And memory, when named together, becomes legacy.
If you’re reading this and you have a family—whether it’s one you were born into or one you’re choosing day by day—I hope you take a moment to slow down this year. To notice what matters, and to name it aloud. The meals. The laughter. The stillness. The chance to be open with one another. None of it lasts forever, but it echoes when shared.
My hope for all of us is that we weave more of that into our lives this year. More love. More presence. More willingness to be seen and to see.
Letter to Future Jettie
As the years pass, the memory of being seven on New Year’s Eve in a hot tub may fade into the background. But I hope the feeling of that night never leaves you—the warmth, the joy, the silliness, the love. Your imagination, your curiosity, and your care make your Dada a better person. Every day.
Love,
Dada