🎇 So This is 2025

And What's New for Me on Substack

Jan 29, 2025

image genrated by Canva. I asked for a Thai woman in a sparkly outfit, and they all came out skinny with a lot of skin showing. 🙄

The Ending Tickle of 2024

Every year, I don’t look forward to it. It’s a fairly fresh tradition, a toddler in existence. Shortly after COVID lifted and people began to gather again, my in-laws began hosting a Scottish New Year party. It’s a wonderful idea, a unique way to celebrate with friends and family safely and well before the sun even sets. But…

It’s always crowded AF.

I stepped over the threshold, a black surgical mask attached to my face, which I had still made up after carefully considering my outfit. I tugged at my blue and white plaid shirt layered over a white tank top, assuring it laid nicely over my bootcut jeans. My brown Doc Marten boots followed the path laid out by my husband, trailed by our two kids, who compliantly adorned red, green, black, and white tartan skirts their grandmother chose for them on her last trip to Scotland.

“Oh, are you not feeling well?” several family members asked me with concern as I wandered to the backyard behind my family.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I have this weird feeling in my throat, and I can’t figure out what it is.” This was the truth. I had been lighting candles and burning wishes1 every day for ten days, and I thought I may have inhaled too much of the smoke after blowing the wick. But…

“I just want to play it safe. Other than that, I feel fine.”

Only one family member, my husband’s uncle who officiated our wedding, responded to my mask with a wink and a, “I understand.” He wasn’t wrong; as much as I wanted to protect everyone from my possibly tickly throat, I also wanted to be protected in the middle of cold and flu season.

“When can we go home?”

My youngest also does not like crowds. She and I stood in the middle of the backyard together, the band blasting at us across the pool, splashing us with a pounding of sound waves. My arm wrapped around her little blonde head, pressing one of her ears into my body and covering the other with my hand. We were overstimulated, counting down the clock for a different reason than everyone else.

“We have to stay until 4 PM. That’s when Scottish New Year is.”

It’s a beautiful way to celebrate. My husband’s maternal side originated from Scotland. It’s perfect. Honor the heritage while celebrating with friends and family, then everyone can be home in time to ring in the California New Year with their own family traditions. But…

“There’s so many people!” My eldest had made it over to me and her sister, my husband swallowed up by a crowd of family members he hadn’t seen in too long.

“Want to get some food and hide upstairs"?” I asked them.

I could actually hear their resounding yeses over the music.

The caterer filled our plates with cozy servings of warm shepherd’s pie, a salad to balance it, and rolls of fresh bread. We herded back through the crowd and up the stairs to the guest room.

The door clicked shut and a blissful thawing of the eardrums began. The window to the room overlooked the backyard, so we could see the party but not have to drown in it.

I watched the scene while the shepherd’s pie warmed my tongue and throat. It was a sea of loved ones experiencing pure, honest merrimaking. It was a refreshment, witnessing a plethora of individuals intermingling with joy, on the precipice of a new beginning, dancing on the edge of the year.

My eldest met her dad downstairs at 3:55. I asked my youngest if she wanted to join, but her eyes grew large and her lips fell into a frown.

So, we counted down the Scottish New Year in the guest room, still a part of the scene, but our energy was safe and allowed to be calm.

At 4:30, we bid our farewells and handed out our “see you next years.”

My boots stepped across the threshold of our home, quiet except for our gray cat, who came to yell at us because his dinner was late.

We all pajama’d up and waited until midnight together in the living room, the fireplace burning with the rest of 2024. At 12:01 we hugged each other, said good night, and made our way to the type of cozy that only your own bed can provide.

I’m excited to start a new year.

I curled into my pillow and let sleep take me away. But…

I awoke in the morning.

Sick.

Happy f*cking New Year to me.

The Accidental Hiatus

I was down for the first ten days of 2025. My plan to use the rest of my girls’ winter break to churn out content was thrust aside by the goblins orchestrating this January of 2025. I tested for COVID, the flu, and strep throat. It was none of those. The doctor at urgent care loaded me up with antibiotics and ibuprofen. I thankfully was back to full health just days before my husband’s birthday party, which I had planned and orchestrated, and then was able to execute the weekend of my recovery.

My bestie and I then made sure to honor our annual tradition of creating our vision boards, which we had to postpone due to said illness; days later we attended a networking event for women in business. All of this was while fires were consuming communities under 100 miles from our own homes2. We both gathered supplies and donated what we could, she volunteered with what time she had, and we both continued to contribute from afar.

I never forgot you, though, Sweet Substack. In the back of my mind, I always knew I would come back to you, and I have new, sweet stuff to offer.

Taking Back the Year

I hope that your 2025 is starting better than my own, though I have little to complain about. I have a home for myself and my family, who feel safe enough to share laughter each day, and I have nothing but gratitude for this.

To reclaim my excitement for this new year, here is what’s new with my Substack:

the publication is now titled The 9 Lives of Rachel Jitsawat. “I have at least nine lives, and I plan to write about them all.”
- (the first life is The Crush Chronicles)
the “Musings” section is now called “Jitsie Jots.” New name, same thing.
Subscriber Benefits Breakdown:
- Free Subscribers get:
  - All Jitsie Jots posts, once per month
  - Access to all The Jitsie Jots Podcast episodes, in the archive
  - All The Crush Chronicles Podcast episodes, twice per month
  - Previews of The Crush Chronicles posts, my first serial memoir, once per month
- Paid Monthly Subscribers get:
  - All Jitsie Jots posts, once per month
  - Access to all The Jitsie Jots Podcast episodes, in the archive
  - All The Crush Chronicles Podcast episodes, twice per month
  - All full The Crush Chronicles posts, my first serial memoir, once per month
  - Monthly Printable Journal Prompts with each The Crush Chronicles post
  - Access to Millennial Nostalgic Playlists, curated by me, with each The Crush Chronicles post
- Annual Paid Subscribers get:
  - All benefits of Monthly Subscribers, but at a 25% discounted annual cost
- Founding Members (9 Lifers):
  - Receive all Paid Subscriber benefits
  - Have top priority when applying to be a guest on The Crush Chronicles Podcast
I have more ideas coming, too, so be sure to subscribe if you have not already!

Apply to Be a Guest

Last year, my New Year’s post announced a new offering, which was my podcast. Season one will be wrapping soon, with plans for Season 2 to launch in the spring. If you’re interested in applying to be a guest, you can do so here.

Flash Sale

Starting today, a 3-day flash sale will be active. Consider becoming a paid subscriber for only $3.75 per month for life!

Wallet getting dusty? Yeah, mine, too. If $3.75 is still an expense you can’t spare, but you would still like paid access, please send me a message, and we can see if we can work out a comp deal!

That’s all the jot I have for this month. Until next time, keep your eyeballs peeled for episode six of The Crush Chronicles Podcast and the next installment of The Crush Chronicles (Johnny’s Chapter).