How many times have you crossed a finish line or accomplished a goal only to realize that attaining it didn’t bring you the satisfaction that you thought it would?
Well, I sure have, many times.
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.
Have you binged or started watching Lena Dunham’s Too Much on Netflix yet? I wasn’t exactly waiting for that one to drop, nor would I consider myself a Lena Dunham fan (I haven’t even watched Girls!). But five episodes in, I found myself unexpectedly…well, moved.
What started as a girly background show turned into something that felt deeper, scratching beneath the surface, shifting from a fluffy rom-com to a quiet, witty take on relationships, intimacy, self-worth, and the little ways we make ourselves smaller to fit in.
I remember a time when self-care was personal and simple, like listening to your favorite song on repeat, getting lost in a book, taking a stroll around your neighborhood, or calling a friend who always knows just what to say. It was a quiet, unassuming kind of thing—something you did for yourself, by yourself, without feeling the need to broadcast it to the world. It’s these small, intimate acts that fill your cup, not because they’re trendy, but because they’re true to who you are.
