My Vision Board for 2026

I haven’t created a vision board in a very long time. Somewhere along the way, I stopped envisioning things altogether. Maybe it happened during the pandemic, or maybe it was because life shifted into survival mode and never quite eased up after that.

Don’t get me wrong—I am happily married. But when it comes to finances, it has been a cycle of on and off, steady then uncertain. At times, I’ve felt like a fish out of water, barely catching my breath before being pulled back under again.

Then there was losing my Mom. And not long after, my Dad followed.

Grief has a way of narrowing your world. Dreams feel indulgent when you’re just trying to make it through the day.

This year, though, I decided I want to dream again. I want something to aim for—not out of pressure, but out of hope.

My vision for this season of life is simple, but deeply intentional. I want slow mornings that don’t begin in a rush. I want financial stability—not excess, just steadiness and peace of mind. I want to take my family on a trip abroad, to experience new places together and create memories we’ll carry for years.

I want to grow my journaling workshops—not just as a side project, but as meaningful work that allows me to help others while building a life that feels aligned. I want healthier bodies, more movement, better sleep, and gentler days. I want our own home, a space that feels safe and rooted. I want a brand new seven-seater car, not for status, but for comfort, practicality, and family life.

I want to read more. To write things down. To remember. To document moments that might otherwise slip quietly by.

At the heart of it all, I want a career in journaling workshops that supports this vision—a life built on reflection, creativity, and slow living. A life that feels intentional rather than reactive.

Vision boards, I’ve learned, are both aspirational and inspirational. They remind us of what we want, but they are not contracts we have to fulfill perfectly. If we don’t tick off everything by the end of the year, that’s okay. What matters is that we allowed ourselves to dream again, to hope again, and to believe that a gentler, fuller life is possible.

Sometimes, choosing to envision is already a win.