$pent Millennial

Dear Reader,

There is no rush.

This time of year usually feels like an exciting reset for me. Setting intentions and goals for a new year is something I genuinely enjoy. I’ve always prided myself on being able to set my mind on something I want and work toward making it happen. 

I’m very visual, so for the past several years, I’ve posted my intentions and goals on my bedroom closet door. While they aren’t something I consciously study every single day, I do believe that seeing them there — even subconsciously — serves as a quiet reminder. A gentle nudge that helps set my direction as I move through the days, weeks, and months that make up a year.

I’ve come to enjoy almost forgetting about those goals, and then one day glancing up to realize how many of them I’ve achieved. It’s a satisfying feeling — the kind of manifesting I believe in. You envision what you want, set the intention, and then get busy with the boring, consistent, day-to-day work that slowly makes it real.

This past New Year’s felt the same at first. I set my intentions and goals with excitement and possibility.

But the other night, when I looked up at my wall of intentions, those familiar feelings were replaced with something else entirely: overwhelm. Almost dread. 

I took a breath and reminded myself — it had only been eight days into the year.

And what an eight days it had been.

Work ramped back up on the 5th. Even though it’s a part-time role, the return came with full-day trainings and prep — a quick jump back into a different pace that felt both draining and disorienting.

Beyond work, the broader weight of the year pressed in quickly. The state of the world, national politics, foreign relations, immigration headlines — it’s hard not to feel unsettled. It’s easy to feel heavy.

So instead of my usual urge to buy a new planner and sprint into the year fully optimized and motivated, I’ve noticed something else rising instead: a desire to move slowly. A reluctance to rush. A wish to ease into the year rather than attack it.

And I think that’s okay.

Politics and global events aside — as if we can ever truly set them aside — not every year is meant for bold building or flashy progress. Not every year needs impressive income jumps, ambitious savings goals, or big career moves. Some years are steadier. Quieter. They’re years for evaluating, stabilizing, planning, or simply getting through.

Even if I don’t accomplish everything written on my wall this year — grapes be damned — maybe that’s not the point. Maybe the work this year is just letting it be what it’s going to be. And what the year will be doesn’t need to be decided- or proven- in the first week (or even the first month) of the year.

Winter, after all, is a season of rest. Of hibernation. Of a different kind of growth — the kind that happens underground, unseen, before anything blooms. 

What a grounding reminder for us all.

There’s no requirement to charge into a new year fully energized and inspired. We can invite it in slowly. We can let it reveal what it’s meant to be, in its own time.

Thank you for joining me in this moment. 

Until next week — take care and be well,

Everett