My Hopes for 2026

The turning of a year always makes me reflective, not in a resolutions-and-perfection kind of way, but in a quietly, more honest one. The new year doesn’t promise a clean slate. It offers a pause. A breath. A chance to name what we’re longing for and what we’re willing to keep hoping for, even when hope feels costly.

This year, my hopes stretch far and wide.

Globally, I hope for peace. Real peace. Not the fragile kind built on slogans or ceasefires that simply delay the next wave of violence, but peace that is rooted in truth, accountability, and the protection of innocent life.

I hope for peace in the Middle East, especially for Israel and Gaza. And I believe peace will only be possible when the Gazan people are freed from the grip of Islamist terrorist groups that have indoctrinated generations with hatred, martyrdom, and violence. No people can flourish when their children are taught to die rather than live, to hate rather than build.

And I don’t hope for this only there.

I hope for the people of Sudan, Afghanistan, Syria, Lebanon, Iran, and every place where Islamist extremism has hollowed out cultures, erased women, silenced dissent, and turned faith into a weapon. I hope for the ordinary people trapped between brutal ideologies and brutal realities, people who deserve safety, dignity, and the chance to live without fear.

Nationally, I hope Canada wakes up too.

I hope we find our way out of the fog of what I can only describe as suicidal empathy, where compassion is divorced from consequences, where good intentions replace good policy, and where we mistake moral posturing for moral courage. I hope we remember that caring about people also means telling the truth, setting boundaries, and protecting the systems that allow a society to function.

I hope new leadership emerges, leadership that genuinely cares for Canadians, not just about approval ratings. Leadership willing to do the hard, unpopular work of solving problems instead of endlessly applying band-aids while crises deepen around us.

Locally, I hope for something simpler but no less important.

I hope my Member of Parliament starts communicating with me, acknowledging that constituents are not inconveniences, but voices worth engaging. I hope more people in my city choose community over isolation, curiosity over suspicion, connection over comfort. I believe deeply that when people begin to see one another again, everyone benefits.

And then there are hopes that anchor me.

I hope my children have another year of health, laughter, and becoming more fully themselves. I hope my husband continues to find joy and purpose in his work, and that it feeds him rather than drains him. I hope my health cooperates enough to allow me another positive, enlightening semester at school, one where learning feels expansive instead of exhausting.

I hope my siblings find the peace and strength within themselves that they so deeply deserve, even if fear has kept them from trusting it yet. I hope my mother’s move across the country is smooth, and that being closer to family brings her joy and ease. I hope my mother’s husband is met with gentleness and support, and that the anxiety that weighs so heavily on him loosens its grip. I hope my in-laws are granted another year cancer-free, filled with joy, passion, laughter, and fun. I hope my father and his wife are surrounded by gentleness and small mercies as they endure the ongoing ache of losing a loved one, little by little.

Anf or myself, my hope is this:

That I keep choosing the light that exists, even when darkness is louder.

That I don’t harden.

That I don’t look away.

That I keep offering warmth in a world that often rewards coldness.

I don’t expect the new year to be easy. But I do expect it to ask something of me - and I want my answer to be yes. Yes to truth. Yes to courage. Yes to hope that is honest, grounded, and alive.

If this year is going to change anything, I believe it will start there.

As this new year begins, I hope you take a moment to name what you’re still hoping for too. Even the quiet hopes matter, especially the ones you’ve been carrying alone.

I’d like to leave you with this, a song I wrote earlier this year. I believe it is a gathering of all my thoughts, hopes, and fears from 2025. Perhaps this song is a release of all that in hopes for a better 2026. I hope you enjoy it.

Ⓒ January 2026. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.