I look at this photo, and I don’t think about vacations or escape. I think about how I want to live. The sky is cloudy, the sea is not completely still, and the beach is almost empty. And yet, everything feels calm. A real calm, not forced. One of those that doesn’t come because everything is perfect, but because you learn to be at peace even when it’s not. That’s how I want my 2026 to be. I want a calmer mental life. I want less noise in my head, fewer unnecessary loops, and less anxiety over what I cannot control. I want to learn —keep learning— to live more in the present, like this horizon that doesn’t rush, that just is. But I also want the strength of the sea. Not the wave that crashes, but the constant, silent strength that never stops. That strength that keeps pushing even when no one is watching. In 2026, I want many things to keep improving. Some have already started, others still need time.
I want to feel stronger emotionally, more confident in myself, clearer about what I want and what I don’t. I want to be more patient, more honest with myself, more compassionate when I make mistakes. And I also want something very specific: the clarity to distinguish what adds value to my life and what doesn’t. I want the strength—real strength—to accept that not everything I desire depends on me, that not everything I wish would work out will, even if I try, even if I imagine it differently, even if it hurts to let go. I want to learn to walk away from what doesn’t serve me, even if that means leaving behind people, dreams, ideas, or versions of the future I once cherished. Not out of anger, nor out of failure, but from the peace of understanding that not everything is meant for me, and that’s okay too. I want to take better care of my body and my mind, not out of obligation, but out of respect. Move more, breathe better, listen to myself more. I want to keep building a life with real, human connections.
Those kinds that aren’t forced and don’t need too much explanation.
With people who add value, who accompany, who are truly present.
I also want stability.
I want to move forward with more confidence, trusting in what I have built, in what I know how to do, in my own worth.
Even if sometimes the outlook seems gray, even if not everything is clear yet.
And if I fall — because I know it can happen —
I want to get up without destroying myself because of it.
With bruises, with tiredness, but without giving up.
Without lowering my guard against life.
I don’t imagine 2026 as perfect.
I imagine it is more honest.
Calmer.
Stronger.
Like this sea:
apparently calm,
deeply strong,
and always moving forward.
