Taking the First Step Into the New Year

Why getting outside and unplugging may matter more than ever

The space between Christmas and the New Year has always felt a little different to me. The rush slows, the decorations stay up a bit longer than planned, and time stretches just enough to breathe. This year, with cousins in town, unseasonably warm Texas weather, and nowhere urgent to be, that in-between space became a reminder of how much we need moments that aren’t optimized, scheduled, or filtered through a screen.

This past week, I found myself thinking a lot about a phrase I heard constantly growing up:

“Go outside and play.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t framed as a wellness strategy or a developmental best practice. It was just what you did. When the house got loud, when energy bubbled over, when boredom crept in, the answer was simple: go outside.

That phrase came back to me over the holiday break as we wrapped up Christmas and rolled straight into the New Year with a house full of cousins who had traveled down from Wisconsin to spend their winter break in Texas. Unseasonably warm days, blue skies, and weather that they wouldn’t see again for months felt like a gift to the crew from Wisconsin.

On New Year’s Eve, we headed “north” four hours, east of Dallas, to Lake Fork for the final few days of the trip. The goal was simple: slow down, fish, be together, let the kids run around. And yet, even with all that space and sunshine, the pull of screens showed up immediately.

View from the top of the boat house at Lake Fork - NYE Wknd 2026.

As soon as the kids got settled, they headed straight for the game room to play the Pac-Man arcade game. And even though my nephew and son were motivated to head down to the boathouse to fish, as they waited for us adults to get ready they passed the time watching one kid playing arcade games from the ’90s (nostalgic, yes) or watching some creator content on YouTube.

Even after we shut down the arcade games, when we told them to go outside and enjoy the weather, you would’ve thought we were punishing them. They wanted to watch TV or chill inside, mind you, these are kids ages six to ten.

And yet, every single time we nudged them outside, something predictable happened. They swung. They climbed. They laughed. The girls would hold “girls team meetings,” which mostly involved whispering, giggling, and occasionally getting into trouble. Time slowed. Energy shifted. For the most part, the kids who resisted the most ended up staying out the longest.

What struck me was this: even the Wisconsin cousins, kids who are used to being outdoors, needed reminding. Not because they don’t like being outside, but because screens make not starting so easy.
That pattern felt familiar.

There were a couple of decades when I ran regularly, and mornings when I’d spend far too much time debating whether I had enough time for a “real” run, whether the weather would be better later, whether I should relax and catch up on our “recorded shows” or whether I had the energy. Eventually I learned a trick: don’t commit to the hour. Just go out for five or ten minutes. If you feel good, keep going.
Almost every time, five minutes turned into a mile. A mile turned into three. Sometimes it turned into an hour. And when I finished, I was happier, more energized, and proud that I’d just started.

Getting outside works the same way. So does unplugging. So does tackling big things that feel overwhelming. Sometimes the hardest part for me isn’t the effort. It’s making the first step.
That idea showed up again in an unexpected way on New Year’s Eve.

Back at Thanksgiving, the Texas cousins had brought a piñata (that we won at a “Día de la Murta” festival) up to Wisconsin. Somewhere between then and the holiday break, my sister and I decided we’d do a piñata for New Year’s Eve too. Maybe we were trying to limit sugar intake. Maybe my sister was inspired by a story she’d heard about a broccoli-themed birthday party, (Eddie’s Fourth Birthday Party - well worth the listen to hear about the broccoli filled pinata). Either way, we decided to fill the piñata with glow sticks and the pieces from a 1,000-piece cowboy-themed puzzle.

The kids were not impressed. At all.

The mood did change slightly when I offered a two-dollar reward to whoever picked up the most puzzle pieces after the piñata exploded. But once the kids went to bed, the adults were left staring at the table with a real question: were we actually going to finish this thing in three days?

By the end of New Year’s Eve, we had only the border done. It didn’t look promising. The next morning, when I zoomed out, the puzzle felt impossible. But piece by piece, we chipped away. Later that day, confidence dipped again (I believe this time, my sister was ready to throw in the towel). By the end of the second night, four adults sat around a small table, skeptical that all one thousand pieces had even survived the piñata frenzy.

New Year’s Eve pinata puzzle after first night - NYE Wknd 2026

Late Thursday night, as we placed the final pieces… one was missing.

So we shifted from puzzlers to search and rescue, crawling under furniture, digging through bags, retracing steps. Ten minutes later, my sister took another look at the empty space to remind herself what she was searching for: a very nondescript, matches-everything brown piece.

And there it was.

Sitting on top of a finished section of the puzzle, where someone, definitely me, had been placing loose pieces to help “organize” our efforts.

We were done.

It felt silly to celebrate finishing a puzzle. But it also felt meaningful. We’d spent time together. We’d laughed. We’d stuck with something that looked impossible at first in the limited “adult free time we had”. And we’d been reminded that big things get done the same way we got the kids outside or as a runner I’d start moving: one small step at a time. And we had a new New Year’s Eve tradition, a piñata filled with puzzle pieces.

Throughout the trip, and in thinking about New Year resolutions, I was reminded of something I learned years ago during Stagen Leadership training at Whole Foods: the idea of attention zones. The Attention Zones Framework is simple, but it has stuck with me because it explains where our time and energy actually go.

There’s the Reactive Zone, where you’re constantly responding to what feels urgent. The Proactive Zone, where you’re intentional and focused on what really matters. The Distraction Zone, where attention gets pulled without purpose. And the Waste Zone, where time disappears and nothing meaningful comes back.

Technology and AI can help us move faster, learn more, and save time. But without boundaries, they quietly pull us into distraction and waste. The goal doesn’t have to be to eliminate technology. The goal should be to notice where technology and bad habits pull our attention, and then claim back some of that time and invest it to save for something better. Into the Proactive Zone, to get ahead of things and make life easier. To invest more time into people, presence, and progress.

That’s what the puzzle reminded me of. We didn’t solve it by staring at the whole thing. We solved it by picking up one piece, then another. The same is true for parenting in a digital age. The first step matters. Getting outside. Turning off the screen. Starting small. Because once you take that first step, momentum has a way of finding you.

Starting “small” with a big catch at Lake Fork - NYE Wknd 2026

That feels especially relevant as we head into 2026, with AI advancing faster than most of us can fully process. The question isn’t whether our kids will grow up with screens. They already are. The real question is whether they’ll grow up knowing how to step away from them.

Watching my kids and their cousins this holiday reminded me that grounding doesn’t come from grand speeches or strict rules. It comes from repetition. From nudging. From modeling. From saying, “Go outside and play,” even when it’s met with resistance.

Because once they’re out there, they remember who they are.

As a parent, I don’t want to raise kids who fear technology. I want to raise kids who can use it wisely. Kids who know how to unplug. Kids who can focus on the small piece in front of them instead of being overwhelmed by the whole picture. Kids who know that joy, accomplishment, and connection don’t live on screens.

Wrapping up 2025 this way felt right. Slower. More human. More hopeful.

As we step into a new year that will undoubtedly bring more innovation, more noise, and more reasons to stay inside, I’m holding onto this reminder: getting started matters more than getting it perfect.
That’s the invitation I’m carrying into 2026: take one step. Get outside. Unplug a little. Trust that small beginnings, especially when shared with others, still have the power to ground us, steady us, and remind us what being human feels like.

Mom of four enjoying some quite time at the Lily Pad - NYE Wknd 2026

Sometimes the best thing you can say to a child, or to yourself, is still the simplest:

Go outside and play.

Family first. Neighbors first. Humanity first.

Rooted in Wisconsin. Growing forward in Texas.

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