2025: A Year to be Steady
Deciding on my word for the New Year
January 1: Remembering
One random Thursday in last May, I walked out of school and got pinged: feedback on my English paper had arrived.
I had been waiting for this message from my professor for a while. It was my first piece of academic writing ever, and I’d submitted after three weeks of pouring my soul into it—agonizing over every word, revising and rereading. I asked friends, teachers, and anyone who’d listen for feedback. Even though I worked hard, I fully expected my professor’s comments to amount to a polite version of, “Nice try, kid, but better luck next time.”
But instead, I got something I didn’t expect at all: praise. I read the feedback slowly, then read it again. And again. By the fourth read, my eyes were welling up with tears.
It hit me: This is pride.
For the first time in 32 years, I realized that this is what accomplishment felt like. Kind of crazy I came this far knowing the word but not actually experiencing it.
Now, as I sit on a cliffside in Colombia on the first day of the New Year, lightning bolts splitting the night sky, I’m reflecting on that moment and what it means to feel pride—not just for what I’ve done, but for what I’ve chosen not to do.
For the most part every year-end reflection is the same story: What did I achieve? Did I hit all my goals? Did I keep up the hustle? But rarely do we pause to think about what we didn’t do. The temptations we resisted, the distractions we avoided, the bad habits we broke. It’s just as important but most people don’t talk about it.
For me, it’s been six years since my last sip of whiskey. Six years since I decided the fun wasn’t worth the hangover. I don’t even like whiskey—never did—but there it was in my back-pocket, my drink of choice at the time because I wanted to look tough, like I could keep up with the crowd. I gave it all up on 2018 New Years, and I’m proud of that.
2024 was a year of doing and not doing. I finished the semester with straight A’s, wrote a transfer essay I’m genuinely proud of (with the help of a few friends— you know who you are!), completed a couple of abstract painting commissions, and, by some miracle, stitched together a commissioned abstract piece by Christmas (7 hours of hand-stitching, mind you—next time, I’m getting a sewing machine).
But it was also a year of restraint. I didn’t let myself spiral into self-doubt (too much). I didn’t let distractions completely derail me. And I didn’t give up on myself, even when the voices around me—and in my own head—tried to tell me otherwise.
This morning, as I held on to my boyfriend’s waist on the back of a motorbike, bouncing down a Colombian dirt road after a swim in a waterfall, we talked about words. Specifically, what word I want to embody in 2025.
For now, it’s steady.
Steady confidence. Steady pace. A steady person. I want to be someone reliable—not just for others, but for myself. Someone who shows up for their art, their writing, their relationships, and doesn’t lose sight of what lights the path forward.
And alongside steady, I’m carrying a new acronym into the new year: DND. Do Not Dwell.
No more “shoulda, woulda, coulda.” No more bottlenecking my creativity with the pressure to do it all, all at once. Instead, I’ll focus on what’s in front of me and trust the rest will follow.
So here’s to 2025. To finding pride in both the silence and the notes. To rebuilding, redefining, and rediscovering what it means to live in a body and mind I’m proud of.
Steady and DND. Let’s see where it takes me.
Love from Colombia and…
Keep Wandering,
Johnna