Moments and Musings /004
These reflections on the year past and the promise ahead emerged slowly over four days, like stars appearing at twilight...
Happy New Year! It feels like both an eternity and mere moments since we last spoke—these early January days have a curious way of bending time. The transition back to ordinary rhythms after the festive whirlwind feels simultaneously endless and lightning-fast, caught in that dreamy space between celebrations and schedules. I hope you've been able to settle softly into 2025, and that these first days of the year have been full of promise. For the past six years, each January found me carefully penning resolutions, leaving behind a paper constellation of dreams and intentions. But this year feels different. Not because those meticulously penned lists failed me, but rather, I've found myself listening to a deeper rhythm, one that no longer requires the familiar structure of written resolutions. This edition of Moments and Musings is filled with new year’s thoughts and reflections on what I’ve learned and discovered in the year we leave behind, and my hopes and plans for the new year ahead.
In 2024, I found myself drawn to two philosophies that would alter the way I moved through the world: the Let Them Theory and the art of manifesting. The Let Them Theory arrives as a simple but profound shift—rather than trying to orchestrate the lives around us, we learn to let go. It's about recognising how much energy we spend trying to control what others think, do, and feel, and choosing instead to step back. When we release this impossible task, we find something unexpected: all that energy we spent trying to direct other lives can finally be turned inward, toward our own growth and peace. This practice of letting go led me naturally to manifesting. In releasing control over others, I discovered something unexpected: the power of gratitude to transform my own self-doubt into possibility.
Yet even as I embraced these philosophies of release and renewal, I found myself grappling with the weight of past choices and missed opportunities. This tension brought to mind Joan Didion's reflection:
“That was the year, my twenty-eighth, when I was discovering that not all of the promises would be kept, that some things are in fact irrevocable and that it had counted after all, every evasion and every procrastination, every mistake, every word, all of it.”1
These words struck me particularly because they seem to stand in stark opposition to what I was learning about manifesting. In one of my books, I found this passage:
“I couldn't talk about self-love without talking about forgiveness and non-judgement. How many times have you made a mistake or acted in ways you weren't proud of and then berated yourself for days, weeks or maybe years? When we hold on to shame, guilt, anger and resentment, we keep ourselves trapped in the past. We hold on to the energy of those experiences, which keeps our vibration low and holds us back from all that we want to manifest.”2
These two passages speak to different sides of the same human experience: the weight of our past choices. Didion captures that gutting moment of recognition—when we first truly understand that our actions have left permanent marks on the landscape of our lives. It's a moment of almost brutal clarity: "every evasion and every procrastination, every mistake, every word, all of it" has mattered.
But where Didion leaves us suspended in that realisation, Nafousi offers a way forward. She acknowledges the same truth—that we act in ways we regret, that we make mistakes—but suggests that our relationship with these irrevocable moments doesn't have to be permanent. While we can't undo the past that Didion so precisely captures, we can, as Nafousi argues, stop letting it imprison our future through shame and self-judgment.
Together, these passages trace an arc from recognition to release—from understanding that everything has counted, to understanding that this counting doesn't have to define us forever.
I've been thinking about this tension between past and possibility lately, particularly as I keep coming across these Substack In/Out lists declaring thin lips as 2025's new aesthetic ideal. There's something deeply unsettling about the premise. We speak of lips as if they were accessories to be swapped out seasonally, rather than the living tissue they are—parts of our faces that help us speak, smile, kiss. Some of us were born with full lips, others with thin ones, each face a unique composition of features that tells its own story. The idea that we should modify our natural features to chase fleeting trends feels like a peculiar form of collective madness, one that reduces women's bodies to fashion statements rather than the vessels of our lived experience.
What would it mean, really, to declare a body part "out of style"? Should those of us with full lips seek out reduction procedures (if such things even exist) to remain current? The absurdity of the question reveals the fundamental flaw in treating human features like seasonal trends.
While January beckons with its annual ritual of clean eating and fresh starts, reality lurks in every corner of our post-holiday kitchens. The evidence of December's revelry refuses to disappear quietly—tempting us from behind pantry doors and beneath tin foil covers, each leftover a small rebellion against our best intentions. Case in point: bowls of Christmas pudding ice cream, made more indulgent still by crumbled Christmas cake sprinkled on top (and yes, it was delicious—some temptations are worth surrendering to).
Of course, life finds its balance. We'll continue eating our fruits and vegetables, fermented foods, nuts, and oils, and—after extensive travels—we've finally found our way back to the familiar rhythm of the gym. The holiday indulgences and the return to routine aren't so much a contradiction as they are the natural ebb and flow of living well.
The winter temperatures have plummeted, and the combination of harsh outdoor cold and indoor heating has wreaked havoc on my skin. My usual arsenal of moisturisers—including my trusted rosehip oil—suddenly seemed powerless against the relentless dryness. My skin has become dry, scaly, itchy, and flaking in protest. Left with no choice, I've had to bring out the heavy artillery:
1 - LANEIGE Lip Sleeping Mask - Vanilla // 2 - Cicaplast Balm B5 for Dry Skin Irritations // 3 - WELEDA Skin Food Original Ultra-Rich Cream // 4 - Balm of Encens cleanser, mask, and eye/lip treatment all in one // 5 - MEDIK8 Ultimate Recovery // 6 - MZ SKIN The Rich Moisturiser
And after falling down a Reddit rabbit hole in search of rescue for my winter-ravaged skin, I discovered several other promising solutions, including an intriguing sake-based product. The humble Japanese rice wine, it turns out, is more than just a warming drink on cold nights—it's filled with amino acids, ceramides, and skin-nurturing compounds. But it wasn't just the sake that caught my attention; my research led me to a carefully curated selection of products, each offering unique approaches to combat this seasonal skin crisis:
1 - illiyoon Hyaluronic Moisture Cream // 2 - TATCHA Indigo Overnight Repair // 3 - Kikumasamume Sake Skin Care Cream // 4 - It's Skin Prestige Creme Ginseng D'Escargot
And because it can’t hurt, I’m also considering this Winter Kit, which focuses on lipids and antioxidants for the cooler months.
I never do the washing up without dish gloves, though I often forget retinol or sunscreen on my hands (even though I know I should). Being a frequent hand-washer, I always use a good moisturiser—and what's more classic than Nivea? I like this one too.
I finally watched the Martha Stewart documentary, which I loved. I also completed my first book about manifestation (a topic I've mentioned quite a bit by now), with two more lined up to read. Meanwhile, I've started Ina Garten's memoir.
As 2025 unfolds, I've committed to protecting my creative energy with purpose. On the final day of last year, I took a decisive step—distancing myself from those whose presence had become a quiet drain on my creativity. Though setting boundaries challenges my inclination to keep peace, this choice arose from a place of deep self-awareness and necessity. The decision, though challenging, marked a profound shift from passive acceptance to intentional protection of my creative self. This commitment to protecting my creative energy extends inward as well—I'm letting go of the overthinking and second-guessing that have held me back, freeing myself from who I think I should be, who others expect me to be, and who I once was.
In this moment of new beginnings, I'm discovering that true transformation isn't always about what we add to our lives, but what we finally allow ourselves to release. Sometimes the greatest acts of self-love are found in knowing when to hold on, when to let go, and when to simply let ourselves be.
PARTING NOTE
We’re thinking of all those affected by the Los Angeles fires. Though I've never visited the city, my sister's years living there helped me understand what a special place it is. The devastation is heartbreaking. For those looking for ways to help, there's a community-sourced document circulating with various ways to support those impacted.
PS If you enjoyed this letter, a tap on the heart at the bottom or the top of this post will help others discover us. Thank you 🖤
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Your thoughts were what I needed to read today. Thank you for sharing!
I’ve never commented on your post, but I want to let you know that I am a long time reader and have gotten immense joy and inspiration from tig.I discovered you through the Martha Stewart blog and I continuously tell others your blog is one of my inspirations in interior design. Gratitude to you and happy 2025.