My word for 2026 is: Alignment.
I used to think balance meant doing all the things, all the time—keeping every plate spinning and calling it success. But now I know balance is quieter than that. It’s about doing the right things, at the right time.
For a long time, I talked about living in seasons as an alternative to balance. Now I see it differently. Operating in seasons isn’t avoiding balance—it’s the gateway to it. It’s the pathway to peace.
Alignment, for me, means letting my energy, priorities, and capacity match the season I’m actually in. It’s about listening instead of forcing, choosing what fits instead of what simply looks good, and trusting that not everything needs my attention all at once.
Alignment is living with ease—allowing life’s current to guide me and trusting that when I follow my soul, things unfold the way they’re meant to.
In 2026, I’m choosing alignment over overwhelm. Presence over pressure. And peace over perfection.
And honestly? I need that—because I ended 2025… not great.
I’m not talking to Hector’s family. I’ve drifted from a few friends. I didn’t go to my mom’s for Christmas. Most of December I was sick, stuck inside, watching the days blur together instead of actually living them.
I ended up in the hospital recently, hoping for answers about what’s been going on with me now—and instead I got a full highlight reel of everything else. Pre-diabetic. Low iron (which I already knew). Low vitamin D (no surprise when I barely leave the house). Six medications. A lot of charts, a lot of numbers, and the very humbling realization that I haven’t really been showing up for my health the way I should.
I’m not working right now, and I won’t be going back to school in February either. That sentence still feels strange to type. It wasn’t the plan. None of this was.
But this isn’t me giving up. This is me pausing.
I want 2026 to be better—not in a “new year, new me” way, but in a quieter, more realistic way. The kind of better that looks like taking my meds, going outside, keeping appointments, choosing rest without guilt, and rebuilding slowly instead of burning myself out trying to fix everything at once.
Last year I made 25 resolutions and completed six of them. And honestly? Six is more than zero. So this year I’m not dragging all 19 unfinished goals with me like emotional carry-on luggage. I’m choosing ten. Just ten. The ones that still matter. The ones that feel possible. The ones that support the version of me who is tired—but trying.
This isn’t a fresh start.
It’s a continuation.
A softer one.
A more honest one.
- Read 30 books
- Run a 5K
- Write 100 blog posts
- Get a tattoo
- Get my passport
- Paint on a large canvas
- Try 20 new recipes
- Go hiking once a month
- Schedule one spa day each month
- Work out three times a week
That’s it. Ten goals for a year that’s about choosing what fits, honoring the season I’m in, and building a life that feels steady, creative, and kind to me.
