Last year was loud. Explosive. Chaotic. It was scary and hard and the news was so often disturbing. Everyone everywhere was yelling. On our TVs, on our devices, in our faces. Threats. Demands. F-bombs. For the first time in my life, I felt afraid and sad for our nation’s future. And already, 2026 seems to be taking us farther down that dark path. Costs continue to rise, services continue to be cut, safety seems precarious. And trust and truth are on shaky ground. As hard as it is to look away from the constant shock and awe, I now realize that giving the noisemakers our constant attention comes at the expense of equally important moments. Even in dark times, children deserve a childhood, elders deserve their golden years, artists and creators deserve an outlet, and nature deserves our presence. Last year was rough but it also brought joy and wonder. Far from the madding crowd of Washington, I experienced many blessings, so why not count them? Here are snippets of softness from 2025: I was schooled in the world of KPOP Demon Hunters by my 9-year-old granddaughter. Every time she visited, we played the soundtrack or watched the movie and danced with abandon. The combination of innocence, hope and endorphins made me believe we were indeed “Gonna be, Gonna be Golden.” Throughout the year, I discovered fabulous audiobooks — “A Gentleman in Moscow,” “Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead” and “Letters from Father Christmas” — that were poignantly written and beautifully narrated with fabulously subtle European accents that sounded like literary symphonies. On a lovely June afternoon, we floated along the Chicago River, we were regaled with stories, short and tall, of the city’s colorful past. A hummingbird dining at one of the flowers in her garden was one of those quiet moments in 2025 that helped columnist Donna Vickroy remember that everything is bad in this world. (Donna Vickroy/Naperville Sun) Somehow, the summer gifted us the best flower and vegetable gardens we’ve ever had. In order to hear the buzzing of bees, the flutter of dragonfly wings and the manic flitting of tiny hummingbird, you have to put the rest of life on “silence.” On an evening in August, buffeted by a soft, lake breeze, we joined a chorus of fans belting out Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon” at his Northerly Island concert. Early one Saturday in September, at an intersection on the Ile de la Cite in Paris, we encountered a group of nuns singing their way to Mass at Notre Dame Cathedral. We followed their heavenly voices into the historic, sun-dappled house of worship, which had survived a horrific fire in 2019. Reconstruction is now complete and the cathedral is even more breathtaking. We ended our tour feeling similarly restored. A few days later, in Germany, we watched in awe as our ferry boat captain turned off the engine in the middle of Lake Konigssee and played the trumpet. Over the soft slapping of waves against the hull, we heard the mountains echo his notes. Mother Nature has impeccable acoustics. Sometimes it was the absence of noise that caught our attention. Spend enough time with zinnias, and you realize harmony comes in color. We watched in awe one night as the Northern Lights hovered over our backyard. And on a stroll through Swallow Cliff Woods, we noted how elegantly red and yellow autumn leaves float to the ground. On an afternoon visit in December, my 6-year-old grandson asked for paper, markers and scissors and spent nearly an hour cutting and coloring. When he was done, he slapped three paper houses on the kitchen table and said, “Onna, which do you choose — straw, sticks, or red bricks?” Of course, I chose unwisely so he could set me straight. A week before Christmas, we sat inside the candlelit Oak Park Arts Center as the Metropolis String Quartet performed works by Vivaldi and Mariah Carey. It was festive and lovely and riveting as the audience chimed in to “Jingle Bells.” For a long moment, the world seemed perfectly at peace. In late December, we made our annual trek to the Morton Arboretum in Lisle to be wowed by the lights and soundtrack of its Illumination display. When we reached the hanging lanterns, the 3-year-old paused and yelled, “Look at that.” And all of us did, for a long time. On many weekends we traveled into Chicago, where the sounds of everyday life were invigorating. The clanging of breakfast plates inside Lou Mitchell’s diner, the rhythmic slapping of running shoes along the lakefront, and the roar of the crowd at Wrigley Field. On a particular Saturday in October, thousands of like-minded people gathered in Grant Park to protest the wannabe monarchy, but also to sing, comfort and give voice to the silenced. The event was filled with messages of hope and compassion, which made me love this city even more. Soon after, I heard a plea for help from a community of people who were so afraid to leave their homes that they were on the brink of starvation. I couldn’t stop the madness that put them in harm’s way but I could certainly bring food. That’s when I realized how great is the sound of your conscience singing the praises of your actions. I hold fast to the belief that “whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers” is the definition of who you are, but I also know that where you allow your energy to go, so follows your power. Yes, 2025 was a trying year, a hurtful year, a year I hope to never repeat. But the pain and ugliness that came from powers beyond our control was also met with incredible courage and compassion. And this lifelong newsie learned an important lesson: When you turn down the dissonance, music gets where it needs to go. Donna Vickroy is an award-winning reporter, editor and columnist who worked for the Daily Southtown for 38 years. She can be reached at [email protected]. ...read more read less