New Year’s Wishes and Resolutions

The Vulnerability of Going After Your Dreams

Growing up in Venezuela in the 1980s, I expected to become the kind of adult who has it all (and as far I could tell, everyone else expected the same from me). Oil prices were high, and so were the hopes and dreams of a country whose economy is intertwined with fossil fuels. It wasn’t just Venezuela, though. The 80s were the decade of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and The Breakfast Club, of Ghostbusters and The Goonies. Movies told us that we could survive high school and otherworldly villains, and not just survive but have a thrilling time at it. I grew up expecting to have a husband and children I adored, a rewarding career (emotionally, intellectually, financially), and a community of family and friends to share it with.

I’ll have that piñata stick and everything else too! Also, I’ll have my mom’s sexy 1981 purple outfit. I did inherit it, but didn’t wear it too often. It’s glorious on her, though.

I grew up expecting to have it all and, as if John Hughes were directing my life, I got it, and I’m infinitely grateful for the life I have and for the beloved humans who populate it. Making it all work, however, is a hell of a choreography act. Something akin to the Von Steuben Day Parade where Ferris (Matthew Broderick) lip-syncs atop a float surrounded by women in lederhosen dresses as construction workers, parade judges, window cleaners, and hundreds of spectators dance along. But instead of the five minutes that scene takes, you have to do it all year long. I’ll wager even our unstoppable boy Ferris might struggle with that.

Go, Ferris, go!

I’ve developed a preposterous amount of daily strategies to keep the choreography of my life going, key among them accepting that we’re going to flub countless steps and whole numbers too. However, this post isn’t about day-to-day mechanics but about the blend of desire and introspection many of us engage in as one year turns into the next. New Year’s Eve is arguably the most important day for many Venezuelans. We traditionally spend it with family and friends, looking back at the year that’s leaving and focusing on what we want to achieve in the year taking its place. Some of the rituals are fun, like eating 12 grapes during the first 12 seconds of the new year for luck and happiness. Last week, my husband Nate could only find jumbo-sized grapes so we all choked a little as we conjured our fortuitous 12 months to come:

I love the grapes and cannot imagine beginning a year without them, but they aren’t as transformative as my favorite New Year’s ritual. Around 11pm on New Year’s Eve, everyone in our nuclear family sits together to write their wishes for the new year on a single sheet of paper, taking turns and figuring out how to fit everything—our handwriting, doodles, and dreams—into one page. I love this ritual because as the year ends, it invites us to zero in on what we want, individually and together. Knowing what you’re hoping to do/make/receive/feel/accomplish is a vital step toward making some of it happen, and this ritual invites you do exactly that alongside the ones with whom you’ll be primarily sharing that journey.

I get a kick out William’s dreamy expression and Nate’s laughter. Poor Santiago didn’t make it to midnight in 2017, but I seem to be using his hip as my wish-writing table, so he’s still part of it. (Photo by Liz Lauren).

You can revisit that collection of wishes 12 months later and examine the people you were a year ago. What did you long for? What did you get? And what did you learn in the process? The relentless having-it-all choreography requires nimbleness and constant reinvention. What worked? What didn’t? What did you learn in the process? I ask those questions over and over. As 2024 ended last week, I knew I’d flubbed what should have been my two showstopping professional numbers. A Family of Stories, the documentary I’d been working on for eight years (!?!) with astoundingly talented people I adore, didn’t get into any festivals. The film may find its way to audiences someday. Or perhaps no one will ever see it. Ouch. There’s also my search for an agent for my novel Grand Gestures, which has been slower than I imagined. I’ve been getting enough traction that it looks like the novel will become a reality. But then again, who knows?

Wish negotiations in 2019. Santiago looks very sleepy, this time under Nate’s arm and my hair is frizzy from all that dancing. (Photo by Caitlan Spronk).

Last week, as I read over our wishes from last year, I could see (front and center) my request for A Family of Stories to have a spectacular festival journey and for Grand Gestures to land an agent and a book contract. There’s a harrowing vulnerability to wishing for what you want—the threat of crushing disappointment, the possibility that you’re deluded about your talent and ability to accomplish your goals. Introspection is a painful pastime. But for me, at least, it’s the surest way to switch gears when I need to. I’ve decided, for now, to shelve A Family of Stories. There are a few ongoing applications, but I’m not applying to any new festivals. Eight years is enough time for a project to take from you, and the pain of its constant rejection was making a mess of my self-confidence and optimism.

Introspection can also sneak in soothing surprises. As I examined my wishes for 2024, I realized that while my biggest professional desires had not come to fruition, my emotional ones had. I’d written some daunting wishes about family, friendships, and work/life balance, and those had almost all come to be, and they’d done so in such a seamless fashion that I’d forgotten how far-fetched it’d seemed that they’d happen at all. I’d also asked for new ways to be creative, and my YouTube channel (which I hadn’t even imagined a year ago) has garnered over 200,000 views. That’s substantially more than A Family of Stories would have gotten at festivals. Of course YouTube doesn’t hold the same weight in terms of prestige and peer-approval, but I’ve reached more people with that channel in 10 months than with any venture I’ve ever undertaken.

The choreography didn’t go as planned, but it wasn’t a lost year. It was a great year, as a matter of fact. I just needed to come to terms with what didn’t work out (and that was excruciating) and I needed to notice and appreciate what had worked out. With that insight in mind, we wrote down our wishes for 2025.

Good luck, little wishes! Santiago stayed up this time. (Photo by Deian Tabakov).

Above all, I want an agent and a book contract. I do. Oh I do. So badly. I additionally want to monetize my YouTube channel (we need 340 more subscribers to get there!). I also want to continue to find time to be there for those I love while creating work that matters (to others, to you, to me). For the last wish, I’m going to rely on the American (to me) concept of New Year’s resolutions. I’ve resolved to spend two full days a week working on Grand Experiments, the sequel to Grand Gestures. Is it risky to write a sequel to an unsold book? Absolutely. Will it break my heart if neither book ever sells? Yes and yes. But my choreographies are always risky and most of those risks pay off. Not always how I thought they would. But they do. Let’s hope these risks pay off too.

Here’s my video on the nature of New Year’s Resolutions. I hope you find it helpful as you make (or stick to) yours:

And here’s one of my favorite moments of 2024. A return to old themes (Nate and his brother Jeff’s playful mustache rivalry) and the welcome arrival of new developments (my son Willian and my nephew Silas are judges in the mustache competition).

Writers on Writing

I hope you enjoy these two videos featuring Vanessa Riley and Jess Zafarris.

Stories that Transfixed Me (and May Transfix You)

The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek by Kim Michele Richardson

It wasn’t until I finished Book Woman and read Kim Michele Richardson’s author’s note that I realized she was writing about an actual place in Kentucky and a real (and very rare) condition that causes people to have blue skin. The realization only added to my awe at her tale of blue-skinned 19-year-old, Cussy Mary, who rides her mule, Junia, to deliver books to her patrons around the Appalachian Mountains during the Great Depression. Junia is a loyal, cantankerous mule who’s smarter than everyone around her and she could fill countless books on her own. She’s in great company with Book Woman’s cast of indelible characters—some lovable, some terrifying, all expertly drawn—that resonate with our world today even as they’re rooted in the 1930s. Dolly Parton is an outspoken fan of Book Woman, and I bet you will be too.

A Complete Unknown, directed by James Mangold

Everyone in Nate’s family loves Bob Dylan, and since meeting Nate in 1999, I’ve loved Dylan too. Thus it was a treat for seven of us to watch Dylan’s biopic together over the holidays. Limited in scope (as my favorite biopics tend to be), Unknown follows Dylan through the beginning of his career. He goes from playing small gigs in Greenwich Village, to becoming the kind of star who causes a stir wherever he goes, to wrestling with his allegiance to the folk movement that made him. Timothée Chalamet nails Dylan’s blend of genius and arrogance, keeping him a mesmerizing cypher from beginning to end. Dylan’s tumultuous relationship with Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro) sizzles, and Edward Norton brings to life the hopeful kindness of folk singer Pete Seeger. Unknown will make you fall in love with Dylan (for the first time or all over again). Here’s our family review of it:

Your Turn

What are your wishes and resolutions for 2025? What did you learn from looking back at 2024? What are you reading and watching?