The only resolution I’m making this year is to return my library books on time. It’s not groundbreaking, but let’s be honest: that’s a level of consistency I can aspire to. As for the broader concept of New Year’s resolutions? Meh. They’re like gym memberships in January—aspirational, overhyped, and often abandoned by February.
Instead, I’m embracing a delulu mindset this year—living boldly in my own universe of creativity and audacity. I’ve spent decades watching the greatest show on Earth, America, and if there’s one takeaway, it’s this: audacity is the key to survival. Forget imposter syndrome; success requires confidence so unshakable it borders on absurdity.
For me, the New Year isn’t a clean slate; it’s a chance to recycle last year’s unfinished goals and reframe my so-called “overambitious” ideas. This time, though, I’m leaning into the audacity of creativity in a world that often asks for proof before it believes in dreams.
Creativity, by definition, is unconventional. You’re building something out of nothing—a book, a painting, a movement. It takes nerve to believe in your ideas when the world demands pragmatism. But here’s the truth: I’m tired of running from my creative pursuits. I’ve let the myth of the starving artist hold me back, but that ends now. This year is about birthing those bold ideas and moving toward the things that scare me the most.
For far too long, I’ve felt like a dry autumn leaf, carried whichever way the wind blew. No more. This year, I’m grounding myself in discipline—not the joyless, rigid kind, but the kind where intention meets consistent action. Let’s be real: the last few years have been sprinkled with mild chaos. I kept pretending I had it together, but… I didn’t. Now it’s time to call myself out, reset, and move forward.
Here’s my vision: I want my life to feel like Björk’s discography—quirky, unapologetic, and uniquely mine. I imagine a future where I sit across from someone who genuinely gets my vision, someone who sees the light a younger, more self-critical version of me couldn’t recognize.
Being a creative person means juggling a thousand ideas and interests, trying to weave them into a coherent story of who you are and why you exist. It’s messy, exhilarating, and deeply personal. But that’s the beauty of it—choosing to live out loud, in full color, without asking for permission.
The other day, while sledding with my daughters, my eldest looked up at the sky and asked, “Mom, what if there was peace everywhere in the world?”
I told her the truth: “I wish there could be, but too many people profit from chaos. What you can do is create peace in your heart and your life.” She nodded, satisfied with the answer. And I realized that’s exactly what I’m aiming for this year: a heart full of peace and a life full of audacity.
So this year, I plan on living my most delusional life. The one where my identity, abilities, and all the other labels society throws at me doesn’t define my possibilities. I’m dreaming big, being bold and taking up space. Scratch that—demand space.
Because life is short, and when all is said and done, I don’t want to leave this world knowing I played it safe. I want to leave knowing I lived creatively, authentically, and unapologetically. Let’s create, dream, and live in a way that proves we were here—not by conventional standards, but by our own wild, untamed visions.
This year, delusion isn’t a flaw. It’s the plan.
Photo of Björk/Tim Walker/W Magazine
Comments