In the past, I would have jumped on the bandwagon without hesitation. New year, new goals, new intentions, new promises. There is something genuinely exciting about the idea of a fresh start, and I don’t dismiss that at all; in fact, setting goals can be energising. Vision can be clarifying. Hope can feel like oxygen. However, what those glossy New Year narratives rarely account for is inevitability. Or juxtaposition. Or life.

They don’t leave room for the unexpected detour, the quiet grief, the unanswered question, or the reality that growth doesn’t happen in a straight line. They don’t account for the fact that you can be healing and hurting at the same time, hopeful and tired, moving forward and standing still — all in the same breath.

 

So, this year, I am choosing a different approach.

I will still have goals, but they will be held with grace. They will honour all I have learned, not erase them. They will give the transforming version of me space and permission to grow gently, in my own way, at my own pace. There will be room for adjustment. Room for rest. Room for being human.

Most importantly, there will be no requirement to fundamentally alter who I am.

Exactly as I am is perfect for me, and I do want that same freedom for anyone reading this. Just because something works beautifully for someone else does not make it wrong that it doesn’t work for you, and just because your path looks quieter, slower, or less obvious does not make it less valid.

 

In my professional life, I am widely recognised for stakeholder management — the art of understanding people, navigating dynamics, and meeting different needs without trying to force everyone into the same shape. This year, I want to perfect that art in my personal life. To understand who and what I am surrounded by. To observe without immediately trying to remodel. To place people on pedestals according to individual merit, not proximity or expectation, and, perhaps most importantly, to never chase love. Not approval. Not validation. Not belonging. Love that has to be chased is rarely love that sustains.

I also carry into this year a deep awareness that depression is real. I have seen it up close. I have witnessed people who appeared to be thriving externally while quietly fighting not to drown internally. I have learned, sometimes painfully, that all is not always as it seems.

 

So this year, I want to lead with gentleness — for myself and for others. I want to lead with curiosity rather than assumption, with compassion rather than comparison. 

 

I want to hold on to hope and optimism, not because life has been easy, but in spite of it. Regardless of setbacks. Despite how long the night feels,  because day does eventually break. It always has.

 

I want to continue growing my prisoner of hope ability – that quiet resilience that believes in light even when it can’t yet be seen, and to share it wherever I can, not as a sermon, but as an offering.

…and yes, I want to explore love – not recklessly or desperately but honestly and with openness – with discernment and courage.

So, if we are looking to call it a New Year’s resolution, mine looks something like this: 

To live 2026 with intention and grace. To allow goals without rigidity. To honour growth without urgency. To remain curious without fear. To remember that becoming does not require abandoning who you already are.

You don’t have to become someone new this year.

You are allowed to continue to be you softly, honestly, imperfectly — exactly as you are.

And I truly wish upon you this same permission. May we thrive. Happy New Year! 

 

See you next week.

 

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