2023 End-of-Year Goals Check-In
Tracey’s last audio message to me was extremely atmospheric.
She left it while walking home from the subway. She’d just seen Aladdin. Lest I think she’d changed completely as a person since I saw her six weeks ago, she went to investigate hearsay about the musical, not because she thought she’d like it.
She and a friend had heard that the main actor was so attractive that a gay theater reviewer couldn’t help but sustain an erection for the entirety of his two-hour performance. Tracey and co had to go see for themselves.
She paused before delivering the verdict and I could hear the wind in Queens from the sidewalk in Eindhoven.
“It was harrowing.”
While she was happy for the children dancing in their seats, she could not recommend it.
Especially since she and her friend didn’t even get to see the hot main guy. His decidedly average-looking understudy went on instead.
I’ve known Tracey for more than a decade. I know her voice. We have sprawled in parks in Queens and in Cairo together. She taught me how to design a gallery wall. I stayed in her apartment when I went to my friend Jolie’s wedding four years ago. Tracey and Jolie hung out together last year at my birthday in Dénia. Last week, they got dinner together in New York, and this week, I listened to Tracey tell me about it.
It felt like an honor, witnessing the daily peaks and valleys of the life of someone I love while I’m living my own. Taking them with me like a pocket watch.
I listened to Tracey as I watched a mother cart her two children past a park, the kids standing and waving at me from a wooden barrel attached to her front wheel. As an adult son with a sharp side part rode past with his mom sat primly behind him on his bike, her hands crossed in her lap. Those ones didn’t wave, but I smiled anyways, and inhaled the heavy scent of fried apple fritters sold from the cart in the main square as I strode past the final few blocks to the coffeeshop.
Before I entered — before I kissed Antonis hello, before I ordered a too-sweet chai, before I puttered around the internet for an hour, checking every account balance I could hack into from a VPN that masked my location with an American IP address, before I started this essay — I sent Tracey a few audio messages back. In them, I stole the framework she’d used for hers. My first message set the atmosphere (the Netherlands, cloudy and dim, bikes whizzing by), the second held my losses (broken finger, work overwhelm), the third, my wins (feeling loved and loving, lucky to witness, capable of building the life I want with the people who matter).
The wins offset the losses, and the atmosphere enriched the wins. I set out trying to live 2023 in the half-hour increment. I wanted “less to accomplish things and more to appreciate them.” The deep contentedness I felt listening to Tracey and watching people interact and smelling sweet fried things made me feel like the appreciating thing was going pretty well, όντως.
In 2024, may your walks be beautiful, your doughnuts filled with apples, and your WhatsApp audios full of good stories.
Let’s recap 2023, goal by goal.
Cherish my existing community and invest in new ones; love well and be well loved.
1. Continue to find community in Valencia. Part of living in a country I’m not from means befriending other outsiders. Part of being an outsider is leaving. My Valencia social circle has changed more than I’d imagined it would when I started. (More than my Buenos Aires circle did in a year, for sure.) I accept that now. I want to hug my people close and stay open to meeting new ones. How? Throw and attend goodbye parties. Be generous with my friends and listen to my instincts when I find people I click with. Plan things. Attend things. Spend a night a week in community.
A big win. I love the people I love in Valencia, and I feel much more able to accept that that circle will be changing, and that I’ll have cyclical periods of opening myself up to new connections. I’ve learned a lot about what makes a good friend, and I think I’m doing better than ever at recognizing when people match my energy and values and when they don’t.
2. Stay close with my people. Bringing together some of my all-time favorites for my birthday last year was soul-changingly fulfilling. I want to keep that energy, even when international reencuentros aren’t in the cards. How? Invest time in regular catch-ups and phone calls and video chats. Travel to see Miss Brin. Travel with and to my sister. See my aunt and my grandma. Make it to at least one big friend wedding in the States. See The Light Brigade for our retreat. Visit Cam and Camilla in London. Visit Jigs in Milan. Visit New York babies.
A win. I did every trip I’d hoped to, and saw (nearly) everyone I’d planned to. I have more regular phone calls and I feel good about how I invest time in my friendships. My big US trip was tough, so I won’t plan to do that again next year.
3. Be a good host. I loved having so many people come visit in 2022, and I want to keep the threshold propped open for the next 12 months to come. I want to be the host I felt lucky to find in my travels. I want to bring people who visit into this home that I love in this city that I love and wrap them up in care. And for people who share my city, I want them to come for breakfasts and baking dates and feel at home in my space. How? Keep my house and take care of it. Invest in things that matter to me: art, a stocked pantry, a Rolodex of all breakfast deals within a 20-minute walk. Welcome the people I know are coming (Tracey! Gabi! DZ! Dani! Katie?) and those who will.
A win, though the second half of the year wasn’t as booked and busy as the first. I needed a bit of a rest. Still, I hosted six people over those six months, and felt my house was more of a home than ever.
4. Build a stronger literary community. My writers’ group gives me support and accountability and no shortage of book recommendations. And I have book clubs in English and in Spanish I love. I want to keep those communities up and running, but I want to expand into a broader literary community, too. How? I want to start working with some kind of publishing enterprise again — being a reader for a journal, or planning a festival, or participating in some kind of English-language project here in Spain.
This is a fail. I met a few people through my summer workshop, and I did get to know more of my local bookstores. But I’m not deeply embedded in new literary community, nor am I doing formal work with a publishing outlet. I don’t know if I’ll attempt to do that in 2024.
5. Be in love. I debated if this belonged on this list at all, and if it did, if it belonged here. But I believe in wanting things — in articulating needs and desires, in tacking a route towards them. I have never not been grateful for love, even if the me of five months ago would’ve struck a big red line through that sentence. “I live my life in widening circles /that reach out across the world. /I may not complete this last one /but I will give myself to it.” (Rilke.) How? Be open. Be communicative. Be experimental.
Mmmm. Big win. There are sixteen Hozier lyrics I could use here, borrowing better words than I could write about the buzzy sweetness, the warm safety, the richness of silly-serious love. I’ll leave you with the lyrics of “Work Song.”
Make things.
6. Write regularly. I’ve tried for years to be prescriptive about how my writing should happen: morning pages, daily half-hours, long Sunday afternoons. I’m not saying any of that in 2023. How, then? Write six short stories and six essays I’m proud of. Length to be determined; subject matter, too. But I will write and I will finish things.
This is a win. I wrote 18 pieces this year, many of them short flash stories. Only two were essays, but with 16 other finished pieces, this still counts as a big win. It’s helpful for me to see that written. A win. I constantly feel like I should be writing more. Like I’m not improving or building my portfolio at the rate I should. But actually, I had an extremely productive summer, and I’m happy with my output this year.
7. Craft regularly. Craft is making. It is tactile and explorative and fun — and all of those things more than art is. I want to practice crafts I know I enjoy, like ceramics and cooking, and also try a few new ones. How? Keep up with once-weekly ceramics class and make and gift many beautiful, satisfyingly-hewn things. Take Sunday art classes whenever I can. Try a new craft (jewelry making, sewing, cooking class) at least twice.
Feels like a win. Ceramics has been wonderful. I’m much better than I was a year ago, and also I constantly make mistakes. Every time I go to the wheel, I have to go with no expectations. It’s a craft practice that enriches life more than I would’ve thought possible. I went to several Sunday art classes, too, painting tiles and shaping air-dry clay and making wreaths. I didn’t try a new craft. I’d like to one day — glassblowing, jewelry making, sewing are in my sights — but ceramics is so good and fulfilling and time-consuming that I won’t be adding anything new anytime soon.
8. Host events. I debated whether this went in community or making or business (should I make money from these one day??), but it feels like it belongs thoroughly here. What I like most about having events is the full sensory leap of them: the theme, the decor, the food, the atmosphere, ready to be drawn up and played out. The making, and then the experiencing of what was made. How? I’d like to host something once a month: a dinner party; a games night; a party-party.
A wonderful win. My birthday was full of exciting prep and beautiful execution. Thanksgiving was ideal. And dinner parties and Cookie Party brought some of my favorite people around my table to make and eat together. And I’ve deepened relationships with several other incredible hosts and hostesses, so have gotten to experience sensory leaps at their hands, too. This goal has made me quite happy this year.
Take care of my body and brain; live in the present with them whenever possible.
9. Move my body regularly. How? Work out at least thrice a week. Walk as much as I can. Hit my favorite life metric: 10,000 steps.
A win. I love working out. I feel the difference in my body, brain, and emotional range every time I come home from the gym, or from a run, or with salt and sand in every possible crevice from playing beach volleyball. My step count this year is slightly under — 9,600 or so — but I’m fine with that, and I think I’ll ditch the metric next year.
10. Appreciate and care for my brain. How? Keep going to therapy. Use what I learn there. Go to psychiatry for as long as I need to. Spend time alone when needed, and with people when needed.
A win. Therapy continues to be great. Sometimes I struggle to accept that my brain needs help. That I need help. But I’ve gone a long way in recognizing that this year, and learning to get what I need.
11. Be outside — especially in water — whenever possible. Not going to recommit to my first-year-in-Valencia goal of getting in the ocean every month, though if it happens I’ll be happy. And as we learned in Bariloche, I like hiking fine, but it’s not a passion. I just want to be in and around nature: parks, beaches, water, gardens. How? Spend some part of most days outside.
Mmm. A win. Last week, before coming here, I took a mental health day from life and took myself and a book to the Turia, where I laid on the narrow checkered line of my scarf and closed my eyes and soaked up the sun like a lizard. It felt the same way a run does, or therapy does, or being with friends who only fill my cup does. Necessary and slate-erasing. I spent a lot of time outside this year, and I love living in Valencia, where that’s possible even in Q4. I also have enjoyed combining this goal with my friendship goals: weekly walks in the park with Caro, pick-up volleyball with my team, reading in the park with Ryan.
Create future optionality.
12. Make enough money and save some of it. This is the first year in four years I don’t want to double my income. For one, I need less to live well in Spain than I did in New York, and for two, I’m taking Laura’s advice about ignoring the siren’s call of the hedonistic treadmill (the ingrained sense of “more is better”). In fact, I would like to halve how much I make. How? I’d like my business to gross $110,000 this year, and to save half of my profits, including in retirement accounts.
Mmm. A fail. I missed my business gross number this year. I’ve saved some, but not half, and I’m gearing up for a big Spanish tax bill, so retirement will need to wait. I feel less anxiety about this than I expected I would. I’d like to make a bit more money next year, to allow for more optionality with things like a mortgage one day, but I’m fine with this fail.
13. Formalize my forays into writing. How? I want to publish three essays and three short stories in external outlets.
A fail. I published one essay and two stories. But at the midpoint I had sent in 22 submissions, and by the end, I hit 110 — so I’m improving my chances for next year. All the same, I wish I had done better here, though I recognize a lot of it is out of my hands and all I can do is keep writing and keep putting my writing out there.
14. Finish a longer-term project. This is a goal from last year that I’m hoping my upcoming writers’ retreat lets me make real headway on. How? Finish a script or a book proposal or a story collection.
A fail. I wrote a lot this year — 45,000 words! — but it’s not a cohesive collection or piece. I will take a break from this goal next year, though it’s still something I’d like to do at some point in my life.
15. Renew my Spanish visa. I want to be able to keep living here legally. How? Successfully navigate this process in March.
A win. I have residency until 2025 and it feels really good.
Learn.
16. Do harder things in my business. How? Take on a few bigger-picture, white-space consulting projects, even if that means cutting some content or copy projects.
This is a win. I’ve gone in-house with one client and taken on a plate of responbibilities and projects that are exciting. I feel part of a team for the first time in a while, and I’m pushing myself to create and structure and explore instead of just executing deliverables. It’s good for me and I’m excited to keep doing it next year.
17. Get better at Spanish. How? At some point in 2023, take a class and pass a C2 exam. Get certified by the government as being proficient. (On a daily level, keep Spanish friends and read Spanish books, of course.)
This is a fail. I have looked it up for next year, though, and plan on taking it. I’ll start with a test exam, and may take classes or lessons if needed. I’m happy with my skills here, and the relationships they have allowed me to form, even though this is a fail.
18. Stick with volleyball. How? Stay in class twice a week. Do at least four tournaments. Make the podium in one of them.
Mmm. A fail by what I set out to do. I never made it past the semifinals. But I played in at least six tournaments, and made great friends, and got better. I broke my finger playing in my last tournament of the year and was inordinately bummed about having to take eight weeks off playing.
Consume beautiful things.
19. Read and love books. My relationship with books is maybe the best thing I’ve ever had in my life. How? A favorite annual goal, I will read four books each month, at least one of which isn’t fiction. I’ll keep a log of what I read and share my favorites.
A win. I’m reading around six books a month and have let myself read what I’m most excited about. Sometimes that is Tolstoy. Sometimes Ernaux. Sometimes sexy dragon novels before bed. I’m buying and welcoming in many paper books, which makes my home feel like home, and I’m lending books back out to people I think would love them, too. I was working on my book log before this, actually, and year 30’s favorites are already a phenomenal bunch.
20. Eat and love food. I could fulfill this with a long Michelin-sponsored road trip or with a copy of Deb Perelman cookbook (hi loved ones, feel free to give me this) or with the continuation of my now-permanent Spanish breakfast habit (thank you Em and Carol!!). The how doesn’t matter here. I will do it most days and in many ways.
Mmm, yes, a win with butter on top, as reflected by: toast with tomato and shiny olive oil; salty bocadillos layered with various combinations of eggs and potatoes; schnitzel in mushroom sauce; double-layer chocolate cake; turkey noodle soup with thick medallions of soft carrots; bok choy the color of spring coming freshly wilted from the broth; so, so many sweet potato fries. I love being able to eat with joy again.
And now let me make you cry with this poem from Sarah Clancy
I didn’t do a Q3 update this year. I wrote in Q2 about feeling like life was going so well I might jinx it by looking at it too closely. Life is still going well, and I didn’t pause in Q3 to write down the exact contours of that goodness. I know this ritual is more helpful to me when I’m having a harder time. Or when I feel like I know myself less.
But still, it’s worth it.
As the years go by, my goals are more about ways I want to feel and less about things I want to do. I’ll finish my 2024 goals soon, and they will be a long list of feelings, along with a few external ways I want to measure and mark those feelings. I hope pursuing them goes well. Whether it does or doesn’t, it will have been worth it.
In July’s goals update, I included this Tennessee Williams quote about living with happiness when it’s here instead of wondering when it’ll be gone: “I have been very happy lately, just wallowing in it selfishly, knowing it will not last very long, which is all the more reason to enjoy it now. I suppose life always ends badly for almost everybody. We must have long fingers and catch at whatever we can while it is passing near us.”
In December’s, I’m including this Sarah Clancy poem about the same topic, because while I think I’ve gotten better at living in present happiness I’m still crying about beautiful phases of phrasing that endevour:
Chances Are
trees and cockroaches
will outlive us, tides ignore us
apocalypse will flick us
off as easily as if we were flies
irritating a thin-skinned horse,
this poor beleaguered universe
will continue unencumbered
and the better for it, chances are
that you and I will never be as happy
as we are here doing the crossword
on a train hurtling towards Antwerp,
going for no reason other than to
be together somewhere else.
Maybe I’ll be wondering if happiness will leave me as long as I have it. Or maybe I’m learning to see it like Dutch fog: all-encompassing, breath-in-able, sure to return.
Maybe the art is teaching me.
Maybe that is the surest thing I know.
Cheers, all.
x K