A Quieter Kind of New Year

I met 2026 without fanfare, and maybe just too true: I woke up when the fireworks started going, reminding me that the year had turned over. A reminder, perhaps, that my body and my calendar are in a long-term contentious relationship I did not consent to.

I loathe New Year’s resolutions. Not change. The theatre around it. January arrives with fireworks and that oddly aggressive optimism, plus a fresh notebook you will abandon by the third week. The message is always the same: “Be better.” Like you are an underperforming intern in your own life, and the universe is your line manager. And yes, I understand why people love it. The fantasy is neat: turn a page, and the plot tightens, the pacing improves, and everyone becomes more emotionally mature by Chapter Two.

But I am learning, slowly and somewhat irritably, that time does not do the work for you. It just keeps moving. Which is rude, if we are being honest.

So when I say I am meeting 2026 with Creation, Connection, Alignment, and Health in mind, I do not mean I have a perfect plan. I mean, I am trying to build a way of being that does not collapse the moment the world does what the world always does: asks for more, moves faster, changes its mind, and expects you to be grateful.

Creation

I used to think creation was for people who had time. The ones who wake up at 5am, journal, do yoga, drink lemon water, and still somehow have energy to be kind in meetings. Those people either have superior nervous systems or a very talented PR team.

For me, creation has always looked messier. It looks like writing when I am supposed to be doing something else. It looks like ideas arriving in the middle of my 50,000th Star Trek rewatch. It looks like a sentence that will not leave me alone until I put it down somewhere, even if it is in the Notes app like a thief dropping stolen goods.

Creation, for me, is not about productivity. It is about proof of life.

It is the small act of saying, “I am here.” I am thinking. I am not only reacting. I am not only surviving. I can still make something out of nothing, even if the something is tiny, even if it is imperfect, even if nobody sees it.

And there is also a selfishness to it that I am learning to respect. Creation is mine. It belongs to the part of me that existed before other people’s expectations, before the performance of competence, before the endless emotional labour of being the reliable one. Creation is where I get to be unfinished without apology.

In 2026, I want to create like that. Not as a brand. Not as an output. As a pulse.

Connection

Connection is a word that sounds soft until you realise how much bravery it actually requires.

Because connection is not just about being around people. It is not WhatsApp groups and birthday messages and liking someone’s post just to let them know you are still alive. Connection is presence. It is attention. It is letting someone see you without the lighting filter.

It is also, inconveniently, about boundaries.

I have learned that the people who love you well are not necessarily the people who demand the most access. Sometimes love is the friend who does not take it personally when you disappear for a bit. Sometimes love is the colleague who asks, “How are you really?” and then actually waits for the answer. Sometimes love is the child who insists you sit down and watch a ridiculous thing with them because they do not care about your schedule; they care about you being there.

I think a lot about how children instinctively understand connection. They do not want the “best version” of you. They want the available version. The one that sits down. The one that listens. The one that puts the phone away, even though you are “just finishing something quickly,” which is the lie of our era.

So I am meeting 2026 asking a blunt question: who am I connected to, really?

Not who I am performing connection for. Not who I keep up with out of guilt. Who do I feel more myself around. Who leaves me steadier. Who makes my nervous system unclench a little.

And am I offering that kind of connection back, or am I hoarding my attention like it is a scarce resource I cannot afford to spend.

Alignment

Alignment is the least sexy of the four, which is precisely why it might save my life.

Alignment is not a vibe. It is not aesthetics. It is not “this year I am soft and feminine, and I buy linen.” Alignment is when the inside and the outside begin to speak the same language.

It is when your calendar stops bullying your values.

It is when you stop saying yes to things that make you feel small and then act surprised when you feel small.

I have learned that misalignment has a physical sensation. Like my mind is dragging my body behind it. And on other days, my body acts like it is only loosely affiliated with my brain. Not quite in sync with each other, and definitely not in sync with what I am asking of myself.

Alignment, on the other hand, feels quiet. It feels like a straight line.

Not easy. Just honest.

In 2026, I want to be more aligned with the stories I tell myself. I want to break free from the narratives that dictate what I “should” do. The narratives revolve around the obligations I have to others. These narratives often suggest a single, acceptable definition of success.

I want to be aligned with time. About rest. About ambition. I am constructing a life through my daily activities, not just the one I envision in my mind.

Because the truth is, you cannot outwork a life that does not fit you.

Health

Health is the keyword that forces humility. Health is the one that interrupts your philosophy with a practical question: Have you eaten? Have you slept? Have you moved your body in a way that is kind? Have you stopped trying to live as if you are not embodied?

I am learning to treat my health like a relationship, not a machine.

A machine you can push. You can ignore the warning lights. You can say “just one more week” and expect it to cooperate. A relationship does not work like that. A relationship requires listening. It requires repair. It requires consistency. It requires you to stop acting like you are the only person in the room, when your body is literally there with you, carrying the whole operation.

The hardest part about health, for me, is that it is unglamorous. It is repetitive. It is the boring miracle of doing the same small things again and again.

Drink water. Eat real food. Take a break. Go outside. Ask for help. Say no. Breathe like you mean it. Close the laptop. Read a book. Go to bed.

It sounds too simple to be profound, which is how you know it is profound.

In 2026, I am not interested in health as a performance. I am interested in health as the lever that makes everything else possible. Not because I want to be perfect. Because I want to be here. I want to be present for my work, my people, my child, my own mind. I want to create without collapsing. I want to connect without burning out. I want alignment that is sustainable, not heroic.

So, how do I meet 2026 then?

Not with a dramatic reinvention. Not with a punishing set of goals that assume I am a robot with an infinite battery.

I meet it with four simple commitments.

I will make things. Even small things. Especially small things.

I will choose a real connection over a noisy connection. Quality over quantity. Presence over performance.

I will pay attention to misalignment early, before it becomes resentment, before it becomes illness, before it becomes a whole personality.

I will treat health as non-negotiable infrastructure, not a reward I earn after I finish everything else. Because “everything else” is a con artist. It will never be finished.

And maybe that is the real point. Maybe meeting a new year is not about becoming someone else. Perhaps it is about coming back to yourself. The self that still possesses a love for words, recognises patterns, finds significance in the mundane, and yearns for a life that truly resonates with her.

That is what I am bringing into 2026. Not resolution energy. Relationship energy.

And if I can do that, even imperfectly, then the year can do what it likes. I will still be creating, connecting, aligning, and protecting my health as if it were sacred. Because it is.