2026: Intentionality and a Well-Curated Life

A Reflective Essay by Dr. Melissa Cain Travis

I celebrated my 49th birthday a couple of weeks ago. There’s something about being on the cusp of a new decade of life that motivates me to do Big New Things.

When I turned 39, I decided to train for a running race—even though I hated running. I’d exercised regularly for many years, but that did not include pounding the pavement. One of my more haunting memories of childhood is the day we had to run a mile in sixth-grade P.E. class. This involved four laps around a grassy, pine-tree-lined track at the front of the elementary school’s property. When I got to the last half-lap, I was done, kaput, finis. My 12-year-old self was so out of breath that I knew I had to stop or else collapse in a sweaty heap in the dirt. Suddenly, a tall, lanky, yellow-haired boy named Matt (the class “jock”) came alongside me and physically propelled me forward, repeatedly shouting, “Go Melissa, you can do it!” all the way to the finish line. It’s a wonder that my lungs didn’t explode. By the skin of my teeth, I made the required time. (There’s a theological metaphor in there, I’m sure.) I was incredibly embarrassed that my classmates saw this go down, but also thankful that I never had to run a timed mile again. Ironically, at age 39, training for a public race and then successfully running the race (without slowing down!) felt like a redemption of sorts. And, geeky bonus, I did it wearing a pink Stormtrooper tank top.

Fast forward ten years. I’ve just had my 49th birthday. To be candid, I’m emerging from a difficult decade: major disappointments and deeply sad and hard things, which generated disillusionment that, in turn, spawned unhealthy cynicism. Yet 2024 and 2025 have felt, in some nebulous way, like a transition into a new season. My younger son graduated high school, which means I’m now the mother of adult children. My husband and I helped plant a church that is already thriving (read my articles in the Grace House newsletter!). We sold what we thought was our dream house, a house that we built and in which we and our sons spent twelve years of our lives. We bought property out in the country to build something smaller, away from suburban congestion and noise. We’ve named our lovely slice of woods Westmarch (this thrills my Tolkien-loving heart to no end). I’ve recently returned to Christian academia, this time with far different aspirations and understandings of my vocation.

During this pivotal time, I’ve been more reflective about what it means to really flourish as a human being.

In recent weeks, I’ve listened to podcasts and read several outstanding essays about abandoning social media and generative A.I. in all its forms and embracing a more analog, intentional life that emphasizes prayer, great literature, face-to-face connection with people, regular immersion in nature, creativity, and manual skills, all of which are part of cultivating a contemplative life. This will be my Big New Thing to accomplish before I turn 50 at the end of 2026. When I hit that half-century milestone, I want to do so wearing better glasses and different shoes.

This morning, I read an essay that condemned the toxicity of many online spaces and offered an outstanding “beginners guide” for the pursuit of a far more humane, analog lifestyle. This was so timely, given the fact that I had already been thinking a lot about the concept of an intentional, well-curated life. Then, a friend I haven’t heard from in a good while texted me because her word-of-the-day app had given her a word that reminded her of me: Cenacle (SEN-a-cull). A cenacle can refer to 1) a group of people such as a discussion or literary group or 2) the upper room, where Jesus shared his Last Supper with his disciples. How wonderful! As the Lord typically does in my experience, he has been composing a new theme that gets louder and more elegant by the day.

Rather than an ephemeral New Year’s resolution, I’m regarding all of this as a paradigm shift. I’m not planning to write a manifesto, but I do wish to share a few aspects of my approach in the hopes that it will help and inspire you, dear reader.

Over the past week, I’ve deleted Facebook and Instagram from my phone. (I ditched my political news app as well as X weeks ago; I rarely peeked at those dumpster fires, anyway.) I’ll retain the social media accounts only so that I can post promo ads related to events at my university (like the Wisdom & Wonder Conference April 25th!). I already feel vastly lighter and more hopeful, which is one more affirmation of my altered trajectory.

Ultimately, this is not primarily about deleting or giving up things; it’s about retrieving more of the Good Life. It is the reclaiming of mental, emotional, and temporal space for intellectual, artistic, and relational pursuits. Notice that I did not say “spiritual pursuits” because all of the things I listed in the previous sentence are fundamentally spiritual! As God’s image-bearers created to love him with our whole selves—mind, body, strength, and heart—all truly humane activities fortify our spirits to the glory of God.

More practical steps: During the holiday slowdown, I’ve begun putting together a selection list for the monthly book discussions I host in my home (and soon over Zoom for Shadowlands Dispatch’s premium subscribers!); I’ve dusted off my electronic piano and printed out some Beethoven sheet music; I’ve begun taking daily walks during which I take a photo of one beautiful thing in nature; a dear friend has offered to teach me the art of Amigurumi (the Japanese craft of crocheting fun little creatures—first up is Gandalf the Grey!); I’ve deep-cleaned my office and re-organized my research and writing space. I’m breathing more freely.

Why not join me in the rebellion?

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—Melissa Cain Travis holds a PhD in Humanities (Philosophy) from Faulkner University's Great Books program and an MA in Science and Religion from Biola University. She serves as Assistant Professor of Apologetics at Houston Christian University and is a Fellow at Discovery Institute’s Center for Science and Culture. To learn about her publications and other work, visit melissacaintravis.com.