By the time this post goes up we will already be ten days into the New Year. Fortunately, there’s no one grading me on my submission of goals or I would have failed this year by default.

At the end of 2013, I decided I didn’t like the idea of resolutions. I then came up with a concept that I liked better, but turned out to be essentially the same. (Nice job on that one, 17-year-old B.)

Screen Shot 2018-01-10 at 3.36.29 PM
the face of one who thinks she’s creative but is in fact–not.

I don’t really like strict resolutions with clearly defined parameters, they never work for me and I always end up forgetting. Other than setting a few around study and other practical requirements, I’d rather have what I want to think about over the next twelve months recorded.

This will be the fourth year I’ve published the concepts that I want to define my new year online. The idea behind this is that I will trigger my fear of failure enough to actually achieve something. (Also I insist on oversharing. And I enjoy reading similar from others.)


The last two years I’ve recorded whatever verse seems to have captured my focus around the turn of the year. Last year it was Philippians 4:8, this year, Ezekiel 36:25-26, a verse that I’ve taken a bit out of context but is also applicable to my current life situation.

This little yellow page in my journal with become what I turn to for the rest of the year, a sort of backbone.


Here we are, 2018.

I am excited to write more words and unexcited to deal with the hard bits of recovery. I am excited for creativity and growth and healing.

This is not the most incredible thing I have ever written, but I have a lot more things to talk about, and somehow my drafts folder now contains 25 unfinished posts, so I suppose I will get onto them.

Until then, I hope this year is a year of change and love and empathy. I hope that 2018 is a year that the world doesn’t finish quite so exhausted and tired, that instead, we speak up for justice and equity, and that personally and globally we feel a little freer.

All my love,

About the Author Britts Amelia

21. Ex-dancer. Jesus Feminist. Very bad at autobiographies, apparently. Once wrote and directed a substandard short film. University student.

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