I’m approaching 2026 differently. Not with a list of grand resolutions or a neatly packaged vision board. Not with the assumption that clarity must arrive before action. And definitely not with the belief that hope has to be loud to be real. If the past year taught me anything, it’s this: I don’t need certainty to move forward. I need honesty. I need room to adjust. I need a way of living and working that doesn’t require me to constantly negotiate my worth. So this isn’t a manifesto. It’s a quieter reckoning. A look at what I want more of, what I’m done carrying, and what kind of year I’m willing to build.

For a long time, I believed that the right role, the right organisation, the right external “yes” would bring alignment with it. That once the conditions were right, everything else would fall into place. 2026 is the year I stop outsourcing alignment. I want work that fits the shape of my life, not the other way around. Work that uses my experience without flattening it. Work that values judgment, context, and long thinking over constant visibility. This doesn’t mean lowering ambition. It means being precise about it. I’m no longer interested in roles that require me to fragment myself to fit in. Or in environments where sustainability is discussed but never practised. I want to build something that has coherence, even if it grows more slowly.

Progress used to mean movement that other people could see. Titles. Announcements. External markers that made sense on paper. In 2026, progress needs to feel different. It needs to feel like momentum without panic. Like effort without depletion. Like days that end with energy still intact. I want to measure progress by better questions, not louder answers. By decisions that feel grounded rather than reactive. By choosing depth over speed, even when speed is rewarded more visibly. This is not a rejection of growth. It’s a recalibration of pace.

One of my quiet hopes for 2026 is to spend more time practising my craft and less time explaining it. I want work that allows for thinking, shaping, and refining. Work where experience is trusted rather than constantly proven. Where contribution isn’t measured only by immediacy or volume. I’m drawn to roles and projects that sit at the intersection of strategy, storytelling, and stewardship. Where long-term thinking matters. Where care is not seen as a weakness. I don’t need everything I do to be public-facing. I don’t need applause. I need meaning.

Writing stays. Not as a side project squeezed into spare hours, but as a central way I make sense of the world. In 2026, I want to treat writing with more seriousness and less romanticism. That means showing up even when it’s unglamorous. Letting pieces take time. Allowing my voice to evolve without forcing it into trends. I want to write essays that ask better questions. Pieces that sit with ambiguity instead of rushing to resolve it. Work that feels lived-in rather than polished for effect. I don’t know exactly where this writing will land. And I’m making peace with that.

One of my most practical hopes for 2026 is stability. Not the kind that comes from locking myself into something that drains me, but the kind that allows me to breathe. To plan. To rest without guilt. I want income streams that are diversified but coherent. Work that respects my time and experience. Fewer compromises that feel like erosion. This is about dignity as much as security. I want to stop normalising anxiety as the price of ambition.

I am also entering 2026 with a deeper respect for my limits. Not as constraints to push against endlessly, but as information. I want days that include pauses. Weeks that don’t feel like endurance tests. A relationship with my body that is attentive rather than adversarial. Health is no longer a background concern. It’s part of the structure. So is rest.

Travel will remain important, but with a different intention. Not as a way to flee exhaustion, but as a way to expand perspective. To stay curious. To remember that there are many ways to live a good life. I want travel that allows for immersion rather than accumulation. Fewer places, more presence. Less documenting, more noticing.

In 2026, I want to invest more deeply in relationships that don’t require me to explain myself repeatedly. Where conversation can be quiet. Where presence matters more than productivity. Where I can show up as I am, not as who I’m supposed to be at that stage of life. This also means releasing relationships that are sustained only by obligation or history. That isn’t a loss. It’s honesty.

Perhaps the biggest shift I’m carrying into 2026 is this: I no longer believe in arrival. There is no final version of life where everything clicks and stays that way. There is only continued adjustment. Learning. Choosing again. This is oddly freeing. It means I don’t have to get everything right this year. I just have to stay awake.

I’m carrying forward patience, but not passivity. Discernment, not cynicism. Hope that is quieter, steadier, and less attached to spectacle. I’m carrying forward the knowledge that I can live well even when outcomes are unresolved.

So this is how I’m stepping into 2026. Not with fireworks, but with intention. Not with certainty, but with clarity about what no longer works. I don’t know exactly what the year will bring. And for once, that doesn’t feel like a failure of imagination. It feels like space. And space, I’ve learned, is where the most honest work begins. So watch this space as I navigate 2026 to become a better version of myself