A Year in Words: Lessons on Writing, Growth, and Showing Up

Closing this chapter with care.

TL;DR

• Progress starts when you do—imperfect steps move you forward.

• Clarity is more powerful than volume.

• Creativity thrives with a balance of structure and freedom.

• Repetition builds habits—reflection builds growth

• The personal often feels universal when we are brave enough to share it.

• Rules keep us accountable. Forgiveness keeps us moving.

• Good enough is often more than enough.

• Numbers can inform but shouldn’t define. Create for growth—not approval.

We rush toward a blank calendar—clean, untouched, full of possibilities. It’s tempting to skip ahead, scribbling plans into the future without pausing to reflect on what the past year taught us.

So before I close the chapter on 2024, I wanted to share what I learned in 2024 by sticking to my writing and sharing my work.

Happy New Year, friend.

Progress starts when you do—imperfect steps move you forward.

It’s easy to treat an idea like a trophy—shiny, impressive, but gathering dust on a shelf. Start before everything's perfect. You can always change your mind, pivot, or even quit. But taking that first step now beats waiting for the perfect moment.

If an idea feels low-risk, low-cost, and aligns with your bigger vision, take the first step.

This isn’t about ignoring quality—you already know that. It’s about trusting yourself to take small, imperfect steps toward something bigger.

Clarity is more powerful than volume.

Like someone who cannot stop talking as they try to prove a point, I keep rambling when I write. I don’t think this is always bad, but I have come to recognize that sometimes I need to stop trying to prove my worth by the length of my writing.

In my client work, shorter drafts often hit harder than long, meandering ones. I'm now applying this lesson to my personal writing. I've become friends with the delete button for client work—it's time to bring that same mindset into 2025.

Creativity thrives with a balance of structure and freedom.

I tend to be a bit of a magpie with ideas—grabbing shiny bits of inspiration and stashing them away. Since day one, I’ve used a Notion data sheet to keep track of my writing and creative projects. But in 2024, I was usually only one or two weeks ahead, and my drafts felt more like scattered thoughts than focused plans.

I learned in my design degree that structure isn’t the enemy of creativity—it’s often what sparks it. People love to say, "think outside the box," but I’ve found that the most creative ideas often come from working within one. That’s why I’m building a bit of a sandbox for myself—room to play, but with edges to guide the process. Structure isn’t about restriction; it’s about creating focus so ideas can take shape.

Repetition builds habits—reflection builds growth

After sending 80 emails, am I a better writer? According to some kind friends, yes—they've given me positive feedback about my improvement. But personally, I experienced a clear plateau moment this year. I felt it. To be clear, this isn't writer's block; rather, it's a recognition that consistency alone isn’t enough—I need intentional practice to improve.

While I’m proud of maintaining my weekly publishing schedule, simply showing up doesn’t guarantee growth. That’s why 2025 is about adding deliberate practice, including a mini curriculum focused on sharpening my skills and pushing past the plateau.

The personal often feels universal when we are brave enough to share it.

I have to remind myself often of this. I don’t think I am alone in feeling self-conscious when writing, so layering on something personal can leave me feeling exposed.

I’ve learned that I do not have to make it about me, but rather remember I am not alone in my feelings. I am not unique in what I struggle with. And there is a way to talk about these things to connect with the reader without divulging anything I don’t want to.

This year, when my grandmother passed away, I turned to writing. Not to make sense of it, but to let myself feel it. It reminded me—writing isn’t just for sharing ideas; it’s for holding ourselves together.

Rules keep us accountable. Forgiveness keeps us moving.

Making writing a weekly email a rule gave me structure and accountability. It wasn’t always pretty—sometimes it meant working late or on weekends—but the rule kept me showing up. Over time, I found a cadence that worked, shifting my publishing day to match my natural rhythm.

But life happens. A few times, I broke my rule and didn’t publish. I’ve learned that beating myself up doesn’t help. Instead, I forgave myself and kept going. Accountability builds habits, but forgiveness keeps the habit alive.

Good enough is often more than enough.

Honestly, I overthink. And the times I would think ‘ugh, is this overly emotional?’ or ‘will anyone care?’ I would get a reply in my inbox. If you have ever replied to my emails, thank you. Those responses were a reminder that I am not alone in my thoughts and that I am connecting with someone.

This overthinking includes belabouring editing. Some emails had typos. Others felt unfinished. But sending imperfect work was better than waiting for perfection. This past year was about the habit of writing, not the habit of perfection.

Numbers can inform but shouldn’t define. Create for growth—not approval.

I still struggle with this. Part of sending essays through Substack is the numbers and stats involved. I could keep things personal, and I am toying with writing fiction short stories next year—undecided if I’ll ever make them public.

Why send things publicly? First, it keeps me accountable. It also provides direct feedback. That said, I draw the line at writing for numbers versus processing ideas and becoming a better writer.

If you create content, knowing why you care about the numbers matters. If you only focus on what others think, you may eventually feel disappointed.

Growth happens by moving forward, not by over-planning. Pausing to reflect isn’t wasted time—it’s how we learn. Frantic action without reflection often leads to more work, not progress.

2024 was about showing up and taking those little, messy steps forward. Topics were random and reactive most of the time, but it worked! Through this reflection process, I can see that 2025 isn’t just full of possibilities—it’s a chance to experiment, test ideas, and let go of what doesn’t work.

Here’s to 2025—a year to experiment, refine, and keep moving forward.

2024 in Photos:

This year took me places I expected—and places I didn’t. Time with family felt more precious than ever. I leaned into photographing what caught my eye—textures, details, and negative space—letting go of what I thought others wanted to see.

Here’s a glimpse—just a fraction of the hundreds of images I captured in 2024.

Hey, you made it to the end, so here’s a little secret, as always!

I share these bits at the end of my essays to remind myself to write more freely and not get stuck in overthinking. And honestly, it always makes my day when someone comments on these random tidbits.

This week’s secret? We went downhill skiing! I hadn’t skied since I was about 15, when I decided snowboarding was cooler and never looked back. So, stepping into ski bindings again? Terrifying. But by the end of the 'learn to ski' lesson, I was turning, grinning, and feeling that spark of excitement I hadn’t felt in years.

Our big goal is to ski tour eventually. We’ve spent the last two years cross-country skiing, and now we’re adding alpine into the mix. Someday, I’d love to do both—but wow, gear and passes add up fast.

So yeah—last week, I was making pizza shapes on a green run, feeling like I’d been teleported back to my 10-year-old self, learning all over again. And honestly? It felt kind of magical.