Every New Year, like clockwork, we fall for the same rituals.
We make vision boards. We write desire lists. We set intentions. We scroll through horoscope reels. We watch the sky fill up with fireworks and maybe even whisper wishes into the night.
We try to summon the future into shape, manifesting as hard as we can.
We reflect on the past year, the way our lives have unfolded so far—our achievements, lessons learned, biggest letdowns, and most confusing detours—and find comfort in believing that the dots of our past and our future are all connected. That they have a logic to them we just can’t see yet.
But the truth is, none of us really knows. And that’s both terrifying and, somehow, kind of beautiful.
Parallel Lives and Locked Doors
I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of parallel lives. The versions of me that stayed abroad, took a different job, moved countries, said yes instead of no, left earlier, or stayed longer. I often think about doors that didn’t open. Doors I desperately wanted to walk through but couldn’t. Some I’ve grieved. Others, I’ve forgotten.
I’ve made peace with those versions of me I didn’t get to become. I’ve made peace with most of those closed doors. I’ve opened new ones, walked through unexpected hallways, and found meaning along the way.
But with the reflective glow of 2026 upon us, I recently found myself asking some hard questions:
What kind of life am I living now?
What have I accomplished, what do I want to change?
What decisions am I afraid to make?
Which choices are keeping me stuck or moving me forward?
And who’s walking this path with me?
The Wish I’m No Longer Afraid to Say Out Loud
I don’t usually talk about this kind of thing publicly, but turning 35 did something to me. It made me feel like it’s okay, maybe even necessary, to ask how I want to live the rest of my life. I know we can’t predict life. But I want to set an intention, release it into the universe, and trust it will all unfold the way it’s meant to.
And I think it’s okay to admit that I’m making mental space for that possibility. A partner, a co-pilot, someone brave enough to build something beautiful together. I don’t think it’s desperate or weak to say that out loud. But I’m also not gripping the idea tightly. I’m open to the shape it takes, or doesn’t take.
I’ve learned to enjoy my own company. I take myself on solo dates, concerts, book trips on my own. I don’t wait for someone to join me to live the life I want. And almost always, life surprises me along the way. People show up. Magic unfolds. I’ve created a life full of love, even if it doesn’t always look traditional.
All of that came into sharper focus after watching a film recently, Eternity, on Apple TV.
What if We Were Allowed to Choose our Eternity?
In the film, Joan passes away late in life and arrives in the afterlife, or "eternity," as they call it. Waiting for her are two men. Her beloved husband of 50+ years, and her first husband and love—the one who died in war before they ever had a real chance.
She has to choose. Who does she want to spend eternity with?
It sounds profound and philosophical. But then it hit me, this version of “eternity” isn’t all that different from life. It’s about choices. About the impossibility of knowing what’s right. And the courage it takes to choose anyway.
Watching her decide, I realized this is what we all do, every day. We pick a path, a person, a possibility—and we hope. We take a chance on someone’s love or something’s potential. We trust. We live.
What Would I Choose?
After a lot of thinking, here’s what I came to:
I’d choose the version of eternity that felt most like me. The one that aligns with how I’d want to spend my time. The one that held joy, ease, growth, music, deep conversation, long walks, and laughter that makes you cry. And I’d trust that the right person would meet me there.
That, to me, is the essence of living a life true to your values. Not clinging to a certain storyline or a specific outcome. It’s the scariest and bravest thing, to choose your own path and trust that what’s meant for you will find you there. In this life, or the next..
Letting Go, Trusting More
The film reminded me of something I’ve been trying to practice: letting go and trusting the universe. If we knew how things would turn out, would we still choose the present? Would we still make the same choices?
In my heart of hearts, I’d like to think yes.
We never see the full picture in the moment. We connect the dots in hindsight. That job we didn’t get. That person who walked away. That city we never moved to. Sometimes, the detour is the main road. Sometimes, the rejection is redirection.
It reminded me of The Midnight Library, that haunting, beautiful novel by Matt Haig. Nora, the main character, is allowed to try out all the lives she could have lived. Every unlived path. Every what-if.
In the end, she chooses the one she had all along. That stayed with me.
It also reminded me of a quote in Arabic I’ve always loved:
"لو علمتم الغيب لاخترتم الواقع"
(If you knew the unseen, you would have chosen your reality.)
Maybe that’s the lesson of the New Year. Not to worry about the future, but to release it.
To live a life that feels like yours, and trust that what’s meant for you can’t miss you.
Not in this life.
Not in any of them.
Not even in eternity.