Over half a decade ago I was told by multiple people that nobody would ever read my writing.

Over the last 750 posts, I proved ’em all wrong.

I have to tell you, whatever you want to do with yourself, just do it. Have fun. Don’t let other people talk you out of it unless it’s hurting yourself or others. Maybe you won’t be rich or famous, but “you do you” is wildly fulfilling. Of course, I acknowledge I write from a place of privilege. I have the time to “do me.” A lot of people don’t have the luxury. Overworked, underpaid people of all stripes.

You already know one of the reasons I write is for them. Every ounce of notoriety I gain is a step toward having the power to make a difference someday. It may be a lifelong project never fulfilled. But the same way I’m telling you to dare to dream, I tell myself, because I believe deeply in the Pygmalion Effect. Dreams can, in their own way, manifest into reality. In the words of William Blake, “what is now proved was once only imagined.” This is a part of human psychology. I’d bet money it’s how we’ve come so far as a species. As we learned from Martin Luther King, Jr., sharing dreams are a fundamental necessity to advancement.

And wow, do I have wild dreams.

One of my most recent dreams, I was one of privileged few who could have any one wish granted. In the dream, many used their wish for wealth, power, immortality. I deeply sympathized with these wishes. I thought of all the self-serving things I could wish for. But I came to a decision that my wish would be to end all suffering. A great deal of the dream was spent brainstorming the perfect wording. I wanted wording that would end all suffering without some terrible consequence, such as the end of existence. I awoke saddened that I never found the right words. It was in many ways familiar, as I have often agonized over the best way to “write for good”, sometimes taking liberties that risk repulsing the audience.

This is not to say I have my head in the clouds. I know the danger of being too entrenched in big-picture thinking, same as any human. But what of the danger of never engaging in the thought that there is a world larger than my own? Could I just tell myself I am living the dream without ever fearing that I might wake from it to find that I am chained to a bed by apathy, greed, burnout, and hatred? And what if the day comes where I realize I could’ve been a part of helping everyone live the dream, but for my own apathy? These are the kinds of things we’re all given just moments to ponder in our busy lives. Does that make them less important?

I wish all of you a happy and healthy 2025.