For 2026, my one-word theme of the year will be “Make.”
Winemakers in Bordeaux. Artisanal baristas in Japan. Even Michelin-starred chefs on television—the list of instances when makers impressed me in 2025 feels endless. Of course, as a writer, most of the works that receive my deepest respect are books.
A few days ago, I tried putting together a special newsletter: 12 book recommendations including only titles written by people I personally know. To my surprise, I could actually name that many. I remembered I even made the acknowledgements for a handful of them. Wow! Simply knowing such a number of craftsmen and -women firsthand made…
For 2026, my one-word theme of the year will be “Make.”
Winemakers in Bordeaux. Artisanal baristas in Japan. Even Michelin-starred chefs on television—the list of instances when makers impressed me in 2025 feels endless. Of course, as a writer, most of the works that receive my deepest respect are books.
A few days ago, I tried putting together a special newsletter: 12 book recommendations including only titles written by people I personally know. To my surprise, I could actually name that many. I remembered I even made the acknowledgements for a handful of them. Wow! Simply knowing such a number of craftsmen and -women firsthand made me feel proud, let alone counting myself among them.
Still, for all the artful energy I managed to channel last year, I also didn’t publish another book, and, as a maker who works with words, creating books is my number one aspiration. In my annual review, I noticed this was a repeat mistake: I had the same complaint about 2024. These deserve special attention.
Granted, it was an eventful period. Transitioning from self-employed to the working world takes time, both physically and emotionally. And it wasn’t entirely for a lack of trying. I did work on books, but they’re more ambitious than the ones I worked on before. So those, too, take time. All I can do? Make, make, make—and then it takes as long as it takes.
“Make” means to create, to build, to form. To shape something out of something or, in some cases, nothing. But it also means to induce or compel. A maker provides both direction and momentum. She sets the guardrails, then lights the turbine that makes the engine go.
Making also means appointing. “I’ll make you the boss.” When you make things, you lift them up. You afford them a position of priority and willingly dedicate your attention to them.
“One plus one makes two.” When you make, you hope your efforts will add up. And pay off, too. “How much am I making?” we ask ourselves when looking at the fruits of our labor.
Yet, making also acknowledges we’ll never be perfect. “What make is it?” Each build comes with a model number and release date. It’s a snapshot of our best abilities at a given time. The next one will be better. That, too, is part of being a maker.
This year, I’ll make many things. Courses at work. Books in my writing. A marriage. Trips to various countries. New friends. An effort to stay in touch with the old. I don’t know how many of my projects will make it—but I do know that deep feeling of pride, respect, joy, and contentment whenever I ship or see other makers succeed. That feeling is worth protecting. It’s worth working for.
A few years ago, I chose a life of stories. “Move slow and make things.” “Make things that matter,” I reminded myself. In 2026, I want to heed those lessons and then some—because whether it’s marveling at skillfully prepared food, congratulating your friends on their published works, or toiling away at your own manuscript late at night, choosing a life of stories also means choosing a life of making.