Season 1, Episode 1: Pilot - The Year I Finally Got the Plot

 There’s something suspiciously cinematic about January 1st. Like the universe hit “reset,” handed me a coffee, zoomed dramatically on my face, and said, “Alright. New season. Don’t mess it up.” No pressure, obviously.

Previously on my life: emotional plot twists I didn’t audition for, lessons learned the hard way, character development that hurt a little too much, and a few cliffhangers that still don’t make sense. There were moments I absolutely loved, moments I barely survived, and moments I still replay in my head at 3 a.m. like deleted scenes I can’t let go of. But here we are. A brand-new year. A brand-new season. Same protagonist, just a little wiser, and hopefully better at reading the signs before the dramatic music starts.

January 1st always feels unreal to me. The world is quieter, time moves slower, and suddenly it feels socially acceptable to sit alone with your thoughts and call it “reflection” instead of “overthinking.” It’s the one day of the year where hope feels natural, not forced. Where believing in new beginnings doesn’t feel naïve, it feels necessary.

This is Season 1, Episode 1. The pilot episode of a year I want to remember for the right reasons.

Let’s get one thing straight: this isn’t the year I magically become a completely different person who wakes up at 5 a.m., drinks green juice, and never spirals emotionally. Let’s be realistic. This is the year I become a better version of myself, not a stranger to who I already am.

For me, that starts with boundaries. Real ones. Not the cute Pinterest kind, but the uncomfortable, slightly awkward, “I choose myself even if it disappoints someone” kind. This year, I want to enjoy life more, not rush through it like I’m constantly late for a destination I never actually defined. I want to laugh more, deeply and often, the kind of laughter that reminds you why being alive is actually fun sometimes.

I want genuine happiness, not the performative kind. Not the “I’m fine” smile. The real one that shows up quietly when you’re doing something you love and suddenly realize your chest feels lighter. I want peace that doesn’t depend on external validation. I want to stop postponing joy like it’s something I’ll earn later.

This year, I’m putting myself first. And that might be the bravest resolution of all.

One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that growth often looks like letting go. Letting go of habits, expectations, people, and even versions of yourself that once kept you safe but now only keep you small. This year, I’m intentionally releasing what no longer serves me, and yes, that includes guilt I’ve been carrying for years like it’s part of my personality.

I’m letting go of the need to explain myself. Of staying silent to keep the peace. Of replaying old mistakes as if punishing myself will somehow rewrite the ending. I’m forgiving myself for not knowing then what I know now, for choosing survival over softness when that’s all I could do at the time.

This year, I’m learning how to love myself more, not conditionally, not “once I fix everything,” but right now, in the middle of the process. I’m learning that choosing myself doesn’t mean I love others less. It just means I finally stopped abandoning myself.

Here’s the paradox: I study neuroscience. I love understanding how the brain works, how decisions are made, how patterns form. I crave logic, explanations, structure. My mind wants timelines, clarity, and a detailed roadmap of what happens next.

And yet, I also love astronomy. The vastness of the universe. The reminder that not everything revolves around my plans. That timing exists on a scale much bigger than me. This year, I’m learning to trust the universe even when it’s vague, late, or deeply unbothered by my anxiety.

I’m learning that delays can be protection. That endings can be redirection. That not everything needs to make sense immediately to be meaningful. Sometimes things fall apart simply because they were never meant to stay as they were.

So this year, I’m loosening my grip. I’m trusting that what’s meant for me will find me and what misses me was never mine to begin with.

This year, I want a life that feels aligned with who I truly am. I want to keep teaching English, French, and Japanese  because language connects souls, and I still believe that words can change lives. I want to keep studying neuroscience, because the brain fascinates me and understanding it feels like understanding myself a little better every day.

I want my days to be filled with the things that make me feel alive: jazz playing softly while I write, piano keys under my fingers late at night, ballet performances that leave me emotionally wrecked in the best way. I want books that feel like home, anime that heals something deep inside me, and meals I cook slowly just because I can.

I want to travel more not just to collect stamps, but to collect moments. To feel small under foreign skies, to get lost and find myself again. I want late-night conversations with friends, laughter that echoes, memories that stay long after the year ends.

I don’t want a perfect life. I want a meaningful one.

This is the year I stop waiting.
The year I stop shrinking.
The year I choose presence over pressure.

This is the year I love life openly, intentionally, fearlessly. And if life decides to love me back, I’ll accept that too.

So here’s to Season 1. To new beginnings. To trusting the process. To becoming, slowly and gently, the best version of myself.

Fade out.
Roll credits.
Renewed for another season.