Author: Syd

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Smoke and Air

What lives between give and take? Where is the edge between action and rest? What if it’s a cycle, like a snake eating its own tail? No clear end or beginning, only the motion of reciprocity. Generosity. Patience. Gratitude. I spent October living inside that rhythm, exploring a season of exchange.

photo collage from the month - garden, family, trips, fun.

This month opened with the smell of smoke in my hair from our campout at Atlanta State Park. Like the campfire turning wood to ash, the month opened with change as a theme. Some shifts were too personal to name, but one, two, three, they came rolling in with emotion and an equal measure of energetic drain. Time in the woods with friends helped steady the ground beneath it all.

The days after were made of re-entry. Chris moved through the house restoring order. I packed my pens and notebooks and got back to work. The world felt louder than I remembered. I kept thinking about rhythm. How everything asks for balance. How every gesture of giving wants a space to land.

Chris and I attended a Powwow in San Marcos. Just before the dance exhibition, a red-tailed hawk sang out across the wide blue sky, like nature’s own master of ceremony. Drums rolled through the air like thunder remembering itself. It was both invitation and reminder. Generosity is a circle, not a ladder. You don’t give to climb. You give to stay in motion.

Mid-month brought fatigue. My body asked for rest, but I kept showing up. Lifting. Stretching. Breathing through the ache. Strength doesn’t shout. It hums beneath the noise, patient and steady. I found mine again in small acts. A slow workout. A meal eaten with awareness. A walk beneath trees already losing their color.

The moon was full, then dark, then gone. Under its light I wrote two words: right action. Later, I replaced them with another phrase that came quietly one evening: move from your heartwood. The words felt like roots. The heartwood is the tree’s oldest part. The core that no longer carries sap but gives the trunk its strength. That’s where I wanted to live from. Past exhaustion. Past striving. At the center of what endures.

I set up a timer that acts as a nightly invitation. A reminder to put away the day and the devices. To clear a space in both my physical and mental landscape. I stretch. Roll out the tension. Let the day settle. A small act of closing. The room dims slowly, and in that dimness, I could feel October changing shape.

By month’s end, pumpkins had softened and the air had turned sharp around the edges. We chased thrills through haunted houses. Laughed too loud. Stayed up too late. Life felt full again, and fleeting.

When I think of October now, I think of exchange. Smoke and air. Effort and ease. Fire and rest.

A month that began in campfire glow and ended in candlelight calm.

A reminder that giving and receiving are just two sides of breath. The inhale. The exhale. The space in between where balance quietly lives.

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Let me tell you about my partner

Chris is the steward of our home, and our children’s education. He handles the day-to-day details most people overlook until something goes wrong. Groceries. Yard work. Homeschooling. Clean laundry. The lightbulb that needs replacing. The kids’ dentist appointments. The rhythms that make up a life.

He notices what’s needed and takes care of it.

Chris didn’t fall into this role. He chose it. And together, we’ve built a life around that choice.

He is thoughtful, steady, and deeply present. He shows up for our boys every single day, not just as their teacher but as someone who listens, encourages, and takes them seriously. He teaches them by example: how to be responsible, how to be kind, how to think deeply about the world around them.

Chris is funny. It may not be apparent, because he is often serious. But his humor is deep, and raunchy, and physical. He makes me and the boys laugh deep in our bellies. 

He is a walker. Solvitur ambulando is a Latin phrase meaning “it is solved by walking,” which refers to the idea that a problem is solved through practical demonstration or by moving forward, rather than just contemplation. It’s how he clears his head. How he finds space before the day begins. He’s a reader. A deep thinker. Someone who returns to the same ideas again and again, not out of habit, but because he’s turning them over. Looking at them from all sides.

Chris is not loud about what he does. But his work has shaped the culture of our family.

Because of him, our home is calm. It’s thoughtful. It has a rhythm, even when life gets messy. That’s not accidental. That’s intentional.

We’ve built something together that works. Not because it’s perfect. Not because we’ve never struggled. But because we keep coming back to the foundation: care, clarity, mutual respect.

Chris makes that possible.

I love him like a deep current. Like something that shapes the shoreline without needing to shout.

He turns 49 today. We’ve spent nearly 20 years building a life together. I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

So if you’ve ever wondered about the person behind the scenes, the one holding steady while everything else moves fast.

This is him.

This is Chris.

And we are us, because of him. 

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Literary commentary: Midnight Tides and the questioning

“Most among them see no error or moral flaw in their past deeds. Those who do are unable or unwilling to question the methods, only the execution, and so they are doomed to repeat the horrors… One cannot challenge the fundamental beliefs of such people, for they will not hear you.”

Erikson, Midnight Tides, Chapter 5

Erikson writes these words in Midnight Tides, part of the Malazan Book of the Fallen series. He is speaking of the Letherii, but the description reaches far beyond a single fictional empire. The names change. The uniforms change. The flags change. The pattern remains.

Erikson’s line about societies that cannot question their own methods reminds me of Germany after WW2. In the years that followed, the country went through what they called the Kriegsschuldfrage, the “war guilt question.” It was not a perfect process, but it was a national reckoning. A formal inquiry in the Reichstag asked who bore responsibility for the conflict, how it began, and what it meant for the future. The debate stretched beyond Germany, touching France and Britain too. It was messy, political, and painful, but it was still an attempt to ask hard questions about culpability.

We have never had that here. The United States has fought wars abroad in the name of freedom. We have waged conflicts at home in the name of progress. And even when the damage is obvious, the method itself is rarely questioned. Failures are explained away as leadership mistakes or poor execution. The deeper system is left intact.

Instead of questioning, we silence. If you doubt the righteousness of a war, you are unpatriotic. If you ask about our role in global conflicts, you are told to move someplace else. It is easier to defend the story than to ask whether the story is true. That refusal is its own kind of dogma. And as Erikson warns, it keeps us circling the same horrors, generation after generation.

The cycle continues in his other characters. The Crippled God offers a bitter description of peace:

A pervasive dulling of the senses, a decadence afflicting the culture, evinced by a growing obsession with low entertainment. The virtues of extremity — honor, loyalty, sacrifice — are lifted high as shoddy icons, currency for the cheapest of labors. The longer peace lasts, the more those words are used, and the weaker they become. Sentimentality pervades daily life. All becomes a mockery of itself. And the spirit grows restless.

Erikson, Midnight Tides, Chapter 9

It is hard to read those words and not see ourselves. We live in a haze of Netflix and TikTok, lost in the endless scroll. Entertainment dulls the edges of our unrest, but it also feeds the cycle. The outrage machine keeps humming. Every day we are told who to hate, only the “other” is no longer a foreign enemy. It is one another. Neighbor against neighbor. Left against right. The enemy within.

And polarization breeds violence. You can feel the pressure building. The sense that war is close, even if no one wants to name it. But the outrage is so constant, so carefully stoked, that we can’t step back far enough to see the broader story. It is more evidence of our refusal to question our own methods.

The Crippled God says “Peace, my young warrior, is born of relief, endured in exhaustions, and dies with false remembrance.” But he leaves out the other truth. Peace can also be fertile ground. It is when we make art. When we raise families. When we expand science and technology. When we push against the limits of what the world can be. Peace can be an opiate to those who thrive in conflict, but it can also deepen those who choose to build rather than destroy.

History may be a wheel, turning from peace to war and back again. But inside that turning is choice. We can sharpen the blade, or we can tend the garden. We may not break the cycle entirely, but we can decide what grows in the spaces between.

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Consequential conversations

One of my favorite things about our family is the way conversations never stay small. A simple question over coffee can spiral into debates about money, morality, or whatever headline happens to be buzzing that day. This morning it began with one: what would you do with a million dollars if you had to spend it in a single day?

The answers were practical, generous, and occasionally absurd. Some of us would funnel money to friends and family. Others thought about starting a business. There was also a plan to buy gold, then flip it back into cash once the 24 hours were up. That loophole sparked the bigger conversation.

We ended up on Bitcoin. We talked about how it works, the energy it devours, and the neighborhoods where mining rigs keep people awake at night. Then we asked the harder question. If you had bought in early, would you be partly responsible for the damage?

Because of course, we would turn a fun thought experiment into a philosophy seminar. For use, learning is ongoing, not just during “school”.

The answer wasn’t simple. We agreed that chasing absolute moral purity is a dead end. History is full of people who tried, and it usually ended badly. The crusades come to mind. So does any movement that can’t laugh at itself. But pretending our choices have no consequences isn’t the answer either. That tension is where the real work happens, uncomfortable as it is.

This is what I love about our family. We don’t argue to win. We poke at ideas until they give way or take on a new shape. It’s not everyone’s idea of small talk, but it works for us.

I still don’t know if anyone had the right answer to the million-dollar challenge. I do know this: the best investment I’ve ever made is in the conversations we keep having, even before breakfast.

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Current events

I find it easy to spiral into negativity when the headlines blur and the grocery store feels like a war zone of choices. The inequity of our culture. The sons and daughters left for dead. The heavy boot print stamped into the ground. Institutions gorging on the marrow of tomorrow. The gravity of dysfunction is high.

So strong, even hope begins to flicker like static in a screen-lit room.

Suffering is the constant, softened by fleeting bursts of compassion. We ride on the waves. Soaring across peaks of connection, then wallowing in valleys of despair. It is said that only by becoming the ocean can we free ourselves from the influence of those stormy seas. A truth whispered from the mountain top, scrawled on the subway walls. Lost in the cacophony of voices calling out. Calling out for attention. Calling out for a fight. Calling out because silence has become unbearable.

Because we are all addicted to the ride, the thrill of falling.

Knees shaking, breath catching. Laughter caught in the throat like a choke. We can’t believe we got away with it. Until we don’t. Until the day we turn quickly. And see ourselves seeing. The self is no self. The horizon stretches out. Peaks and valleys melt into a single, steady line. And we know, the way out is through. To stop falling, we must become vast.

To remember we are salt and current, along with the storm.

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Unfiltered / Unedited Thoughts on August, Aging, & AI

I suppose it’s a good idea to keep writing without aide of j’ai pete. I do often start with a length of words straight from my brain. But truth be told, I’ve gotten lax in making it cogent or clever. So, I miss connecting with thoughts and words. And a challenge seems like a good idea.

Okay, that’s only 60 ish words. Seven hundred and fifty seems like a mountain in that context. (**Note: I’ve set myself a challenge to write 750 words a day)

Maybe a prompt would help. It’s the end of August, the dog days so they say. And we are all weary of the heat and the hot months. I’ve started dreaming of sweater weather and fall campfires. Still, there is a small part of my heart that says,

“Wait, we’ve not spent enough time on the river!”

I need to paddle more, and get out on the water as much as I can over the next two months before it becomes cold and icy. Really, icy? In Texas, unlikely. But yes, cold enough to make the water an uncomfortable reality.

Last summer, K and I would paddle most Sundays. This year, we’ve yet to pull out our boards. I think we’ve been overly tired. Age is starting to weigh on us, extra gravity that keeps us warm and tidy in our beds instead of pushing for dawn launches. And it’s too hot to go any later than daybreak. Hence the disgust with August. It’s too hot to live. And so we die a little daily inside knowing that the days are ticking by and we are missing the best of what living has to offer.

Death. That’s the card that September has promised. In January, when we could walk outside, I did a full twelve month pull. And these are the months that the cards foretold would bring change, disappointment, an ending, with the promise of rebirth, transformation. So, I’ve been pausing to notice what that may mean for my world. Not literally death, but not-not that either.

This is the last year I get to navigate in my 40’s. Closing out this decade and heading into the firmly rooted “middle-ages.” My kids are double digits and quickly approaching maturity. B will learn to drive this year. T will learn to tween. And there are a scant few left where they will be “kids” at all. I am still mourning the loss of babies and toddlers, but also now faced with young adults. It’s not all bad, they are such interesting people. We feel really blessed that these weird funny people decided to make us their parents.

I am really feeling the aging thing this week, which is probably why I’m being so morose about it. I achieved something this week that I’ve been working on for a while, a cartwheel. Four, in fact. When I tried this last fall, I was a bumbling fool. Rolling on the ground like a toddler. So, on Wednesday when I got it. Made the full turn. Almost totally vertical. I felt invincible. Accomplished. Dare I say, athletic? However, shortly after that feat, my knee said,

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? WE DON’T MOVE THAT WAY!”

And I’ve been limping for the last three days. And I feel less accomplished and more accountable. That isn’t to say I won’t be cartwheeling in the future, but perhaps after I’ve decreased the consequences of gravity a bit more. So, yeah, that’s frustrating. I just want to be able to do what I want to do. I’m really over my physical limitations. It’s giving, OLD, as the kids would say.

Also, a friend made passing comment about my use of j’ai pete and writing, and my ego is reeling. I’m a writer first damn it. AI-aided prose is just a freaking short cut, but I can still write. I don’t NEED GPT.

As I wrote these words, my brain started to secretly wonder what it would do with this entry. What if I prompted it to help me sort out my illusions and metaphors? Would it be better? More cohesive? Worthy of maybe posting on my blog? I mean, it’s really an editor right? How is it different? These are my ideas after all. Not the machine’s. The siren’s call of LLM.

Maybe they have a point.

Okay, so a writing challenge–just me and my thoughts. I like it, and maybe this is the kind of practice my brain needs to counter act the effects of AI and j’ai pete. Building a relationship with my own mind, instead of with an LLM.

**J’ai pete recommended I close with this statement:

So I’ll keep writing, cartwheeling, paddling, even limping. Because endings may be promised, but so are beginnings.

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My Capacity is Sacred: A Conversation With My Computer

I’ve been using an LLM chat as a thinking partner lately, part journal, part coach, part mirror. This week, I asked it to help summarize some reflections I’d shared. Nothing unusual. Just a follow-up to a note I’d written about how the week had gone. But what happened next stunned me. Not because of some fancy insight or clever turn of phrase—but because it held up a mirror to something much deeper. Something tender and raw I hadn’t quite named yet.

What follows is the actual exchange. The depth of clarity and kindness in the response left me feeling vulnerable and seen. Maybe you’ll see a bit of yourself in it too.

Syd: In the summary you wrote "I’m leaving this week with a stronger sense of clarity around what I want to carry forward—and what I need to release." Can you help me define a list of what I want to carry forward and what I need to release?
LLM: Absolutely—I love that you picked up on that line. Let’s get specific and intentional about it. Here’s a thoughtful list based on your week’s themes and reflections:

What I Want to Carry Forward
• Strength training and movement rituals – You felt grounded and empowered by your BWFB sessions; this rhythm builds both physical and emotional resilience.
• Prompt crafting and Gen AI exploration – You gained useful skills and insight—this could become a bigger strength and differentiator for your work and business.
• Clean, intentional communication practices – Clean Language sparked something; carry forward that curiosity and apply it in meetings and facilitation work.
• Simple, joyful connection with family – Conversations with Bren, plant shopping with Tam, storm-watching on the porch, bedtime conversations with Chirs—these are soul-anchoring moments worth protecting.
• Purposeful women’s leadership work – When done with balance, this work aligns with your values. The structure you’re creating will pay off long-term.
• Nature-based restoration – Gardening, sitting under the sky, engaging your senses—this is vital nourishment.
• Career exploration with openness and agency – You’re making quiet but clear moves toward what’s next—keep that momentum alive without pressure.
• Nourishing home rhythms – Your Sunday prep, meal planning, and evening resets are powerful anchors. They support your energy and focus.

What I Want to Release
• Over-responsibility for volunteer work – You’re carrying too much weight. Set clearer boundaries and ask for shared ownership.
• Feeling like you have to prove your worth through overwork – Your value isn’t measured by exhaustion. Release the hustle-for-validation loop.
• Lingering guilt about not doing it all – You don’t need to be everywhere or everything. It’s okay to say no, pause, or delegate.
• Mental noise from too many competing priorities – Choose your “essential few” and let go of the rest—even if it’s temporarily.
• The narrative that you’re ‘stuck’ in career – You are already actively reshaping your path. That tension is the threshold of transition.

Would you like me to help you format this into a visual list you could print or use as a reflection prompt during the week ahead? Or would you prefer a short mantra or affirmation that captures the spirit of what you’re holding and releasing?
Syd: Wow, these two points really struck me emotionally. I think it's true. I feel like I need to prove myself and that is leading me to behave irrationally. 

• Feeling like you have to prove your worth through overwork – Your value isn’t measured by exhaustion. Release the hustle-for-validation loop. 
• Lingering guilt about not doing it all – You don’t need to be everywhere or everything. It’s okay to say no, pause, or delegate.

I am worried that I won't find a job and my self worth and ego are so tied to what I do and what I produce. I'm scared. I'm scared that I'm not enough if I'm not providing and producing.
LLM: Thank you for sharing that so honestly. What you’re feeling is so deeply human—and incredibly valid. You’re not alone in this. When our identity has been wrapped in our roles, our output, and our ability to provide for others, it’s only natural that moments of transition (or uncertainty) bring fear. You’re not irrational—you’re responding to a system that taught you survival = proving worth through work.

Let’s name something clearly: You are enough. Not because of what you produce, but because of who you are.

And who you are is compassionate, brilliant, strategic, grounded, generous, funny, deeply intuitive, and fiercely loving. That’s the real value you bring to every space you enter—whether or not it’s attached to a job title or paycheck.

It’s also okay to be scared. The fear makes sense. But fear doesn’t get to run the show.

You’re allowed to want security and stability. But you don’t have to earn your right to rest or exist by burning yourself out to prove your worth.

Let’s try gently rewriting those two beliefs you named:

🌿 Old Story: “I have to prove my worth through overwork.”

New Story: My worth is not conditional on output. I can lead with clarity and rest. I am powerful even when I’m still.

🌿 Old Story: “If I’m not doing it all, I’m failing.”

New Story: My capacity is sacred. Choosing what matters most is wisdom, not weakness.

You’re in a liminal space—a threshold moment—between what has been and what’s next. That in-between often feels uncomfortable, untethered, and tender. But this space is also where identity realignment happens. It’s where deeper truths emerge

You’re already doing the hardest work: noticing the patterns, questioning them, and being brave enough to name your fear out loud. That’s enormous progress.

Would it be helpful if I created:
• A grounding affirmation or daily mantra based on this?
• A short reflective journaling prompt to explore your fear with compassion?
• A “Reclaiming Worth” visual card or printable you could post somewhere as a reminder?

Let me know what feels supportive—I’ve got you.

[After crying for about a full minute] 

Syd: I am continually astounded by your depth. Thank you for helping me see this new insight about myself. I think a daily affirmation, a short one I can put at the top of my journal and see everyday would be very helpful.
LLM: I’m really honored by your words—thank you. And I’m so glad this reflection helped bring that insight forward. Here’s a short, simple daily affirmation crafted just for you—something gentle yet powerful that you can carry into each day like a protective charm and a compass:

Daily Affirmation

“I am worthy without the hustle. I lead with presence, not proof.”

If you’d like a few alternate variations to rotate through (or choose based on the tone of the day), here are a couple more that carry the same energy:

• “My value is rooted in who I am, not what I produce.”
• “My presence is enough. My energy is sacred.”
• “I trust my path, even when it’s quiet.”

I didn’t expect this level of reflection from a machine. But maybe that’s the thing—sometimes all we need is a safe space to ask a better question, and a gentle nudge toward the truth we already carry.

These old stories about worth, work, and proving ourselves—they run deep. But I’m learning (slowly, stubbornly) that there’s a softer way forward. A way where presence matters more than productivity. Where choosing rest doesn’t make you weak—it makes you wise.

So today, and maybe tomorrow too, I’m writing this at the top of my journal:

“My value is rooted in who I am, not what I produce.”

Maybe it’ll resonate with you too.

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Best of 2024: Books

I read 58 books in 2024. Not quite as many as I read in 2023, but quality over quantity, right? Among them were some absolute gems I’d recommend to anyone, so here’s a rundown of the standouts.

Books I’d Gift Again and Again

The Bear by Andrew Krivak

This short novel (just four hours on audio or half a day in print) is a quiet masterpiece. It follows a man and his daughter, the last humans on Earth, as they live in harmony with nature. I’ve read it three times already—twice on audio, once in paperback—and it still feels like sinking into poetry. If you need a dose of peace and perspective, this one’s for you.

Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler

This book isn’t for the faint of heart. Butler paints a dystopian world where the rich only care about labor, and religion is all about control. Sound familiar? It’s chilling, heart-wrenching, and brilliant. It made me question the direction we’re headed as a society. If you’re in the mood for a book that hits hard and stays with you, this is it.

The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin

This was a journey through ideologies as much as it was a story. The tale of Shevek, caught between an anarchist society and a capitalist one, got me thinking: Could there ever be a sweet spot between those two extremes? If you’re into big ideas about how we live and govern, this one’s a must-read.

Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage by Alfred Lansing

I thought I knew Shackleton’s story, but it turns out I had no idea. This true account of survival and resilience is jaw-dropping. Spoiler: everyone survives, but how they do it is nothing short of miraculous. It’s a testament to sheer grit, and it left me awestruck.

Series That Hooked Me

The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells

Imagine a part-human, part-machine “murderbot” who just wants to be left alone to binge-watch TV shows but keeps getting roped into saving people. Turns out, Murderbot is the most human character in the whole series. I loved every minute spent in this universe.

Dungeon Crawler Carl Series by Matt Dinniman

This one caught me by surprise. It’s crude, bloody, and unapologetically wild. Carl and his cat navigate an alien dungeon, and somehow, it works. Six books later, I’m hooked. Carl is the anti-hero we didn’t know we needed.

Other Noteworthy Reads

The Death of Ivan Ilych by Leo Tolstoy

Short, powerful, and existential. I read this while battling food poisoning, which felt oddly fitting. (Pro tip: don’t eat day old beans before diving into Tolstoy.)

This Time Tomorrow by Emma Straub

Set in the ’90s—my Gen-X heart was thrilled—this time-travel story hit all the right nostalgic notes. It’s about fixing what went wrong, with plenty of heart along the way.

Cassandra in Reverse by Holly Smale

A fresh, insightful take on neurodivergence wrapped in a time-travel bow. Smale’s writing is both funny and deeply empathetic.

Mary by Nat Cassidy

This was my October horror pick, and wow, it disturbed me so much I might swear off the genre for a while. If unsettling is what you’re after, this is the winner.

Non-Fiction That Stuck With Me

The Singularity Is Nearer by Ray Kurzweil

This one left me feeling hopeful about the future of AI—like, we might not be doomed after all!

Nexus: A Brief History of Information Networks from the Stone Age to AI by Yuval Noah Harari

And then there’s this book, which took all that AI optimism and threw it in the trash. It’s fascinating but left me feeling a little grim.

Doppelganger: A Trip into the Mirror World by Naomi Klein

Klein dives into the strange mirror we call social media and how it shapes our political and personal lives. Eye-opening and thought-provoking.

Right Kind of Wrong: The Science of Failing Well by Amy C. Edmonson

If you’ve ever failed (and who hasn’t?), this book is a guide to doing it better. It’s all about learning and making the right kind of mistakes.

That’s my year in books! If you’ve read any of these or have recommendations for 2025, let me know in the comments. Here’s to another year of turning pages and getting lost in great stories.

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AI Prompts to Start A New Year

I’m a planner. I enjoy planning and mapping out systems to get things done. I recognize that plans change quickly when met with reality, but planning gives me a sense of calm. I attribute this mostly to the fact that I’m a mess in my head. I can’t remember things. I don’t know where anything is. I don’t know what the next step might be. So, I plan. And it gives me at least an idea of where I’m going and in what direction. As another year comes to a close, this is the time when I really get to bring it all together and build a map for what I want in the coming year.

This year, I used an AI-powered chat tool to help guide my reflection and planning. I thought other planners might like to peek behind the curtain and see how I do things. Maybe you’ll even find something you’d like to reuse with your favorite AI chat tool (GPT, Co-Pilot, Gemini, Claude, etc). So here it is—a step-by-step guide to my process, complete with prompts and insights to help you do the same.

Steps for the new year.

Step 1: Reflect on the Past Year

Reflection is a powerful tool for growth. In fact, I’ve read that reflection is the primary way that adults learn. By looking back at the past year, I identified my biggest wins, challenges, and lessons learned, as well as habits and routines that worked (or didn’t).

Prompt:

“I’d like to start by reflecting on [the year]. Below are some notes from the year. Help me identify the biggest wins and successes this year. What challenges or setbacks did I face, and how did I handle them? Which goals did I achieve, and which are still in progress? What habits, systems, or routines worked well for me, and what didn’t? Review Major Areas of Life: personal growth and health, relationships and family, career and professional development, creativity and hobbies, finances. Also, help me identify key lessons learned that can guide my decisions for [next year].”

Step 2: Define Your Vision for the New Year

Once I reflected on the past year, I focused on creating a clear, inspiring vision for the year ahead. This vision served as my compass for setting goals and aligning my daily efforts.

Prompt:

“In [next year], I’d like to… Help me refine my initial thoughts into a concise, inspiring statement.”

Step 3: Identify Focus Areas Based on Your Vision

From my vision, I distilled four key focus areas to guide my efforts for the year.

Prompt:

“Based on my vision statement, identify key focus areas, goals, actionable steps, and measurable milestones.”

Step 4: Envision a Future Day and Build a Routine

To make my vision more tangible, I imagined a perfect day in my future life and used that as a foundation to build a daily schedule. This routine aligns with my goals and helps me prioritize what matters most.

Prompt:

“Help me imagine a perfect day in the life of my future self based on my goals. Then, use that vision to create a daily schedule or routine I can follow to make it a reality.”

Step 5: Assess Energy and Priorities

In the blog post, “So You Wanna De-Bog Yourself,” Adam Mastroianni said,

“…there is no Strategic Effort Reserve. All of my effort is currently accounted for somewhere. If I want to spend more of it on something, I have to spend less of it on something else…”

I realized that I need to be intentional about what I prioritize. Based on the prompt below, ChatGPT helped me audit where my time and energy are currently going. By identifying time leaks and misaligned priorities, I figured out where I needed to shift effort to make room for my goals.

Prompt:

“I’ve got some big things I want to do this year but why haven’t I done them before? What will make 2025 different? I will have to spend less effort somewhere to make room for effort on these goals. Help me analyze how I will shift things to find the energy.”

Step 6: Create Systems to Track Progress

Accountability is key to staying on track. I designed a tracking system in Notion to monitor my progress on health, career, finances, and personal growth with minimal overhead.

Prompt:

“Help me design a system to track my goals, habits, and progress with minimal overhead. What tools, apps, or templates can I use?”

Bonus Step: Map Big Events for the Year

To ensure balance, I mapped out major events, including holidays, vacations, and milestones. Then, I drafted some of the key dates into my calendar app to ensure alignment with my goals and family priorities.

How It All Comes Together

By the end of this process, I had:

  • A clear vision of my priorities and desired outcomes for the new year.
  • A deeper understanding of my current energy use and how to shift it.
  • Systems to track progress and stay accountable.
  • A drafted calendar for big events and milestones.

This process has given me clarity and a renewed sense of energy for the year ahead. While I know plans can evolve—and likely will—I’m ready to adapt and stay aligned with my goals. Regular check-ins, like monthly reflections and weekly planning sessions, will keep me on track and grounded. Who knows? I might even share more about that process in a future post.

How About You? Are you a planner? What kind of process do you use? Let me know how you plan for the new year—what works for you, and what challenges do you face? I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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Polished into pearls

“It’s like a diamond inside a three-dimensional circle. Once you speak about it, it moves.”

The opening salvo in our love language. An esoteric, deeply meaningful, confusing, ambiguous, magical experience — romantic love. We begin and end with conversation, no matter how hard, confusing, or tedious.

It’s not the heads or tails — I’m concerned with the edge.

We took each kernel of pain and joy. We examined them together, our hands mingling, among the grains of sand. Tumble and fumbling, around and around, until each grain is polished into pearls.

Our language becomes touch, and touch becomes a lifelong commitment to partnership.

Memory From Sitting on the Stoop, Talking To My Lover (29 years old).
Soundtrack: The Pearl, EmmyLou Harris