47 Wishes

Coming up on another year around the sun. Plus, Travis and Taylor sittin' in a tree/on a podcast, and more.

Aug 22, 2025

Here we are, in August, on the edge of fall. It’s the time of year when bathing suits hang haphazardly from clearance racks, and Anthro starts to display argyle sweater vests and, dare I say it, that Seattle coffee shop begins to pimp out pumpkin-spiced lattes.

Most of my friends are either on a final, post-camp vacation with their families, taking their kids for new sneakers and today’s equivalent of a trapper keeper, or setting up dorm rooms with far chicer decor than a blacklight and some ceiling stars.

I can hear the whistles on the football field. Practice has begun.

The days are slightly shorter, and the air is just a bit less humid. I think maybe, just maybe, I can leave my hair down until…nope. Thank god. It is still summer in New York after all.

You could’ve fooled me, though, because swimming at the beach is off limits due to an incoming hurricane, and the crickets have begun to drown out the cicadas.

The close people in my life are all asking, “What are you doing for your birthday?” or “What do you want?” and my inbox has begun to receive greetings from the likes of that random airlines I flew once, along with discounts for 20% off the anti-aging cream I’d placed in my shopping cart.

And so I check the Notes app on my phone, where I list completely inconsequential or splurgy items that feel undeserving of my personal savings, like a chin slimmer (“Is that a real thing???” my sister inquired) or this bedside “Author Clock” that tells the time by displaying lines from books.

Truthfully, though, I can’t think of anything I really want beyond a fulfilling, stable source of income, my own place to call home for a while, and actual peace in the Middle East.

Too much? Too basic?

With the hopes that my outing any other wishes doesn’t jinx them, I’ve put together a more specific list of wants, desires, hopes, and dreams—47, to be exact—as my 47th circle around the sun commences on Monday.

I wish to always have tweezers with me whenever I need them.
Same, for hand sanitizer.
I wish to stop giving a shit about likes and followers.
I wish to attract fewer mosquitoes and more kind, adventurous, and fun/funny people.
I wish to always feel younger than what my birth certificate says.
I wish to be offered the good table without having to ask.
I wish I didn’t care so much about the good table.
But also wish I didn’t have shame for caring.
Or having Big Opinions since I have good taste and the lived experience to support them.
I wish for more spontaneous and serendipitous moments in life, like happening to be in the city the same weekend that a favorite restaurant is closing, and getting a table. (In this case, ‘good’ or any would do!)
I wish the subway would come as soon as I step on the platform, as opposed to when it’s just pulled away.
I wish for shoes that don’t cause blisters…
…and ones that fit without my wondering for days whether I should’ve ordered a different size.
I wish to no longer have to think so hard about orchestra seats versus waking early to get rush seats, which requires sitting on the sidewalk for a while.
In other words, I wish to make enough money to just get the orchestra seats.
And the second glass of $20 wine.
I wish for more time—or the ability to stop it, if even for a moment.
But also to always be grateful for the minutes, seconds, hours, days, months, and years I get.
I wish for better habits, like rising from bed earlier...
…ideally, without looking at my phone for an hour first.
I wish for an apartment with nice natural light…
…and windows that don’t face brick walls…
…on a high floor…
…with an elevator…
…and a washer/dryer in-unit…
…with more than one closet…
…and space for a dining table…
…and a desk…
…that isn’t a gazillion dollars.
I wish to no longer be added to your email list without my permission…
…and to actually unsubscribe when I choose to…
…and not also receive a message telling me I’ve unsubscribed.
I wish servers would stop whisking away the other place setting whenever I choose to dine alone, as if I’m contaminating the cutlery with my aloneness.
I wish whoever is reading this, and not already a paid subscriber, would become one…
Or leave a comment.
Or forward it to a friend.
And that friend happens to be a book editor who wants to publish my memoir, I Live Here Now.
Or hire me to help them with their words or content, in some way.
I wish they’d return all the hostages, without conditions, because it’s the right thing to do and should’ve been done ages ago.
I wish they’d send more aid and food into Gaza, without conditions, because it’s the right thing to do and should’ve been done ages ago.
I wish I’d remember the setting on my cycling bike so that this one instructor wouldn’t have to adjust it every…single…time, henceforth branding me an amateur when I’m not and swear I’m comfortable/know what I’m doing.
I wish to always be called Aunt SaSa, Aunt Sara Paris, Aunt Sara, and Tata.
And for Calvin and Dahlia, specifically, to forever answer my FaceTimes with a smile.
I wish people knew one spray of cologne or perfume was enough.
I wish to remain in good health…
…and be less anxious about it.
And that all my friends and family remain well, too.

I realize that I have the power to enable many of these wishes to come true just by shifting habits, making commitments, and simply persisting.

In which case, picture me now, closing my eyes tight, using my extra ‘good luck’ wish not for more wishes, but to deliver me the will and the way to manifest those within my control. Because, if not that, as the late great poet Mary Oliver said:

“What is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”

Thanks, as always, for being here and ‘wishing’ me well. xx — Sara

Also overthinking this week…

…who to email about a certain dream job…

Clickable

A relatable take on the demise of AJLT. | Vulture
Solo diners do not need or want a Tommy Tomato. | Andrea Strong
The Overtourist has overtoured, and he hath overspoken. | McSweeney’s
Labubus are rotting our brains. | The New Yorker
The funniest review of the most ridiculous new hotel. | Interview

Watchable

ICYMI/live under a rock/don’t care, late last week Taylor Swift not only announced she’d be dropping a new album that she miraculously wrote during her whirlwind international sold out Eras Tour, but she did so on a podcast (her first ever!); the same podcast hosted by her boyfriend and his brother Travis and Jason Kelce, called New Heights. Now, I was vaguely aware that the brothers had a podcast, but I’m no football junkie, so I never listened or watched before. You better believe I was tuning in for this tea, though—and I wasn’t alone. As of Wednesday, the episode had over 19 million views on YouTube. I even streamed it on a large flatscreen TV!

From start to finish, the episode was like a bag of Halloween candy featuring all the hits, from chocolate to sour to hard and soft, and I ate it all up, resulting in the biggest sugar high! Beyond exposing us to some seriously 2020 habits (sourdough, anyone?), the mannerisms between the pair were hard to look away from. The gushing was in full effect, and left me feeling confident that the pair is the real deal in love. Peep my chat with a fellow Swiftie:

Even if you’re not a diehard on either side, the whole shebang was a master display of marketing and self-promotion done in the most authentic, fun, 20205 way.

Souvenir: Fisher Price’s ‘Little People’

During my niece and nephews’ most recent visit to New York, my Grandma Shirley got out her stash of “little people” that we played with as kids. They can’t get any simpler (and stereotypical/borderline inappropriate) than this! Who remembers these little guys, gals, and animals?

Discussion about this post

Ready for more?