Goal Setting for the New Year, A Personal Reflection: December 31, 2024

I woke up at 5 a.m. today, my mind already buzzing with a storm of thoughts and ideas. It’s that rare kind of creative energy—urgent and insistent—that pulls me to the keyboard. But it’s not easy. The Christmas holidays, a welcome reprieve from my usual routines, have been both a balm and a burden. By the third day, the space I craved begins to feel crowded. My mind, filled with raw, unprocessed ideas, becomes a chaotic swirl of stories waiting to take shape. Yet, night after night, they remain tangled, growing heavier and harder to untangle.

It’s like wet laundry left too long in the washing machine—the freshness fades, leaving a stale residue. My thoughts, too, need a reset. This morning, it struck me: I’ve been holding onto these ideas too long. They need attention, a chance to be wrung out and aired, to breathe.

As I moved through my morning, my focus shifted to the rituals that have quietly become the framework of my days. These habits are so ingrained, they often go unnoticed—like wiping down the countertops in preparation for our trip to Málaga, even though the cats, with their trail of paw prints and fur, are in Bremen with Z. The counters were spotless, yet I reached for the cloth instinctively. It made me wonder: where do these small rituals come from? Are they born of necessity, or do they reflect something deeper, an unconscious effort to bring order or comfort to my life?

This train of thought brought me to another ritual: my annual year-end reflection. Every December, I fill out worksheets, cataloguing the highs and lows, the wins and losses. I ask myself familiar questions: What were my favorite books? What were my biggest accomplishments? What held me back from achieving my goals? It’s a tradition woven into the holiday season.

But this year, I asked myself a new question: Where did this habit come from? Is it purely a product of my personality, or did I absorb it from the books and stories of people I admire? I can trace some of it to intentional learning—adopting practices I’ve read about—but some of it feels innate, like a quiet thread running through my life, shaping me in ways I rarely notice.

As these thoughts tumbled around, another, completely unrelated one emerged. J, my dear friend and sister, had asked what we’d like to drink for New Year’s Eve. Her question was about alcohol—something strong, with a bit of a kick. But my mind went elsewhere. I found myself asking, What do I really need to drink right now?

The answer came quickly: peace. Quiet. Calm. This year has served me enough of the hard stuff. What I crave isn’t numbing or intoxicating—it’s nourishing. I need a steady flow of oxygen for my soul, a cleansing breath to release the heaviness I’ve carried.

As I reflected further, I realized that J’s casual question had unearthed something profound. It wasn’t about the alcohol at all; it was about what I’m ready to leave behind. This year has been marked by challenges, but as I transition into the new year, I don’t want to carry that weight. I want to drink in life—real, vibrant, and grounding.

I need personal connection. I need people who see me, who know my story, and who love me as I am. I need to feel safe enough to be authentic, unfiltered, and true. And I need to offer that same kindness and understanding to myself. Don’t we all need this? To be accepted and loved despite our imperfections? I’ve been drunk on hardship for far too long.

As I prepare for our time in Málaga, I’m thinking not just about the logistics of travel but about the shift I want to make in my life. This year, I want to let go of what drains me and hold onto what nourishes me. I want more space for calm and connection, less for noise and clutter. It’s a small shift, but it feels profound.

I’m ready for the lightness that the new year promises. Ready to drink in what truly sustains me.