The sweet smell of success

I was recently encouraged by The Algorithm to choose the scent that would define my 2026. It’s my fault. I made the mistake of pausing my scroll on Instagram to read an advertisement for body mist. The next thing I knew, my screen was bombarding me with avant-garde photography featuring sophisticated scent bottles and demanding that I choose a life-defining scent for the upcoming year. How to respond? With gratitude, naturally.

“Thank you, Oh, Great Algorithm. I almost forgot to make the Eau de Parfum decision that will guide my path in 2026. That was a close one.” As though something I purchased from an end-cap at T.J. Maxx and applied to my skin could provide the singular catalyst for defining my well-being for the next 365 days.

I suppose, if the woman existed who could take such a challenge seriously, she would be slender and lovely. Impeccably gowned, she would spend her time gliding through crowded ballrooms, wafting scent microbes onto unsuspecting bystanders, who would be swept up in her spell. Such would be her defining moments.

For my defining moment of 2025, I face-planted in my driveway. Broke my glasses. Incurred mile abrasions, experienced moderate embarrassment. I was carrying a 15-pound bag of applewood pellets for the smoker. Couldn’t see my feet.

What scent will define my 2026? Probably bacon. With Rhodes cinnamon rolls, fresh from the oven. Maybe a Mississippi pot roast in the slow cooker. And at some point, wet dog hair on a blanket in the back of the car, and the singular aroma of those leftovers I thought we’d eat, then forgot about at the back of the refrigerator.

But it won’t be so bad. Some of my year-defining scents will also include crisp winter air, at sunrise or sunset, with snowflakes falling. Or perhaps crisp winter air at midnight, under a sky full of stars. And the scent of fresh pine logs, burning in someone’s fireplace on a frosty morning.

I’ll make it a goal to sit around a few campfires at the lake this spring, where the smoke follows you no matter which way the wind is blowing. And I’ll look forward to catching the scent of lilacs on the breeze while I’m getting my 10,000 steps a day around town.

Later in the year, I hope to sit outside after a summer shower. That’s a scent worth defining. I’ll smell wheat on the air during harvest and the flowers blooming in the garden. And freshly mown grass is still a favorite on everybody’s Best Smells of All Time list. 

In autumn, it’s back to crisp, cool air, and the sweet, earthy scent of fallen leaves. And fresh-brewed coffee or a steaming cup of chai spice tea can create life-defining aromas, any time of the year.

Maybe the marketing team that designed the perfume ads I saw used their research to ascertain that the average woman feels nebulous about her identity, a state quickly rectified by choosing a year-defining scent. Let’s not fall for that.

The desire to define anything probably implies a search for meaning. I’m not waiting for something concocted in Paris, with notes of citrus and patchouli, to imbue my New Year with significance. That’s my responsibility. But The Algorithm left me with a vague sense that I should, in some deliberate way, make an intentional declaration for 2026. So here are the tenets of my life-defining plan, in no particular order:

Drink water. Smile at people. Go outside. Move. Listen. Make “procrastinate” a four-letter word. (It has 13 letters. I’m working on it.) Live for the moments, not for the outcomes. Trust God. Step carefully in the driveway.

I think that about covers it. I will not glide through any ballrooms, but I may glide over a few county roads on my gravel bike. I won’t waft any spell-binding scent particles, but I might break a healthy sweat now and then. Eau de Happiness and Real Life.