What if we wrote down our dreams instead of our resolutions?

An alternative approach to welcoming a new year

On December 25th, I tucked myself into bed with a heart that was simultaneously full and aching.

There is a particular kind of chaotic magic that accompanies celebrating the festive season with young children. The joy and delight of waking up to presents under the tree and evidence of Santa’s visit in the form of cookie crumbs (and of course a carrot stub from the reindeer) is worth the intensity of the meltdowns that will inevitably follow. There was something particularly special about marking Hanukkah on the same night within our mixed-faith family, lighting the candles together after a day spent gathered around the tree.

At the same time, those poignant moments highlighted what was missing.

This was my first Christmas without my Mom, who loved this holiday and had a special knack for creating enchantment that came into full bloom on Christmas. (A friend I saw today told me he had never seen a house more extravagantly Christmassy than the time he visited my parents one December.) Additionally, a beloved relative was spending this Christmas in the hospital instead of around the dinner table with us. I keenly felt both of their absences - like the sensation when you reach out your hand to pick something up, only to discover it isn’t there.

This combination of feelings created the perfect gateway to the bittersweet state of longing.

When we are experiencing longing, it is easy to focus on the pain embedded within this sensation, but there is a beauty in it is well. It points us exactly to what we love, what we miss, and what we want.

Yesterday, I was reading a post from Writing in the Dark with Jeannine Ouellette where she talks about desire¹. She writes:

"Desire determines who you become. As Maria Popova wrote in the Marginalian, “It is by wanting that we orient ourselves in the world, by finding and following our private North Star that we walk the path of becoming.” […] I love every chance I can get to think and talk about desire, about wanting—the verb. I love wanting, the heat and the ache of it, and the way it works, in the end, to not only fuel our creative practice, but indeed to define our lives. I believe it is the wanting we must nurture, the flames of desire we must fan, in order to sustain our creative practice over time, even when it’s hard. Also to reignite our creative practice after a necessary period of rest. We have to want it and let ourselves feel—really feel—the vulnerability of that wanting.”

This is exactly the state of mind I was in on Christmas night.

So after a day of giving presents, I decided to end the day with a final gift to myself - made of nothing more than wishes.

I wrote down a list of dreams for 2025.

I’ve never particularly been a fan of New Year’s Resolutions. There was always something that felt constraining and punitive about them - a sense that “this year, I’m finally going to kick myself into shape!” The very idea of a resolution seemed laden with the disappointment that I wasn’t already the person I wanted to become.

But somehow, for me, dreaming doesn’t ignite the same sense of self-reproach - it feels more like opening the door to possibilities of joy.

On Christmas night, I tapped into that longing energy, and just focused on capturing whatever appeared with no judgment.

These ideas came out in no particular order, and ranged from the grandiose to the mudane: a big pile of things I want and wish for - whether or not I think I can have them or deserve them.

Here’s a couple of things that popped up for me as I turned my imagination loose…

I’m still in the process of trying to find a new physical normal after years of cancer treatment. I dream of having a ‘Pilates Body’ that is strong, supple, and most importantly to me, free of pain.

Usually, I would put this item in the ‘need to lose weight and exercise’ category that is so familiar with New Year’s resolutions (and seems to turn up repeatedly, year after year). But somehow, putting it on a list of dreams made it feel like an intriguing possibility rather than another thing to discipline myself about.

I also found myself writing down a dream that has been sitting in the realm of unexplored possibilities for a long time. A number years ago, I did Barbara Sher’s 100 Dreams exercise (which is exactly what it sounds like). I can’t remember most of the things on that piece of paper, but one has stood out in my memory - to sing Carmina Burana in a big choir. (O Fortuna!) Writing that dream on the list for this year felt like a great nudge to actually action this instead of letting it swirl around indefinitely in limbo.

Something magical started happening, that I didn’t realise until I was at least halfway through the list.

Just the act of writing them down made me start to believe that they could happen.

It might not be easy, but I could feel my subconscious start to surreptitiously go into problem solving mode to turn them into a reality.

Without even trying, I noticed that I was starting to daydream about ways to incorporate more movement in little ways to my daily life, reaching towards that health and fitness dream.

And on the matter of the singing… a quick google search revealed that there is going to be a 400 person concert rendition at the Royal Albert Hall later this year - and if I can work out a way to join one of the choirs that will be participating, I can be part of it too.

By taking these dreams out of my head, and making them real by writing them down, it felt like I had initiated a kind of magic that is connected to me, but is somehow bigger than me. It brought to mind the end of The Neverending Story - where the Princess tells Bastian he can have as many wishes as he wants. Because wishes construct reality.

It was a sensation of moving towards joy rather than away from shame. (Which is too often at the root of our desire to change.)

This whole experience made me wonder - what if our language as a community/culture was different in how we approached this time of year?

What if we asked each other, “What are your dreams for the coming year?” Rather than “What are your resolutions?”

Would it encourage more generosity and connection to be dream-makers/supporters for the people we care about, rather than feeling that we have been cast as watchful eyes looking out for perceived slip-ups?

How would it feel to position ourselves as creators and pursuers of dreams - rather than embodiments of imperfection who may somehow, finally be able to make ourselves a bit better?

What magic might await us in lives constructed within a scaffolding of dreams?

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

1. (Don’t be fooled by the title - although it’s framed as focusing on the financial implications of running a newsletter community, I found it most moving in its philosophical considerations of what it means to share writing from a place of love.)