The other night, I sat down to reply to a text. That was it. Simple mission. Within minutes, Instagram was open. I was scrolling. And I hadn’t even responded yet. You know the story. You pick up your phone to check the weather, send a quick reply, maybe glance at your calendar… and 30 minutes later, you’ve watched two reels, checked three comments, and somehow ended up deep in the art of making pickle dip. IYKYK.

I’ve never loved New Year goals or resolutions. They’ve always felt forced, like trying to sprint, you hate running. Honestly, my birthday feels more like the start of my year anyway. Instead of resolutions, I choose a word. One word to carry, sit with, wrestle through. This year, it’s a word I’ve already been living with for a while now: Intentional.