So, how could it be that 2025 happened to be my greatest yet most challenging year? Surely the act of transforming my dreams into reality should have filled me with a sense of fulfillment and joy that could fuel me for years to come?

I suppose such an assumption speaks to the naivety at the heart of my being. Because that’s the problem, I simplified the idea of creativity. To me, it served as the solution to all my woes. The self-loathing, the feeling of emptiness burning at the core of my being, and the fear of my own future. If only I was a proper writer, then all those troubles would melt away.

Which explains why when I started, I struggled to slow down. I would write and design and contemplate ideas on a constant basis. There were moments where this electrified me. Actually stitching together thoughts and actually building them into something with meaning jolted me to life. It was fresh and exciting and thrilling and beautiful.

But then I was also tripping over myself on a regular basis. During these moments, I would be reminded of darling Captain Pugwash, a pug who was once a member of my family. Each night, when I’d get home from work, that ecstatic little fella would erupt into a firework display of joy at the very sight of my arrival. His eyes would light up, his tail would tag at light speed, and his teeny body would twirl around at the glee of my presence. He’d get so excited, the fluffy little chap would often tumble over into a heap of giddiness. So much joy, so many thoughts. His dear little body couldn’t handle the volume of it all.

That’s what I felt like throughout much of last year. So many ideas, racing through my darling brain. The plot twists for Synthetic Empires, the topics to cover in my Writer’s Journal, the film essays I could pen, the short stories bleeding into the forefront of my imagination, the questions I planned to put to my Spotlight Newsletter interviewees. I could barely contain my excitement as I scribbled these ideas into my notepads. So many thoughts, so little time to bring them to life.

And there’s the lie I was telling myself. “So little time.” As if all of these ideas had a deadline I needed to meet. I was terrified that if I didn’t write it all out quick enough, they’d fizzle away into nothingness. Much like the daydreams and would-be story ideas I had in my younger years. If I didn’t get Synthetic Empires written up within a handful of months, I told myself it would vanish. If all those short stories never made it to publication, they would become half remembered dreams I’d try to recall during my elderly years. I had to do it all right now, otherwise time would visit to consume them into nothingness.

So I rushed to my keyboard in a bid to reanimate them. I’d type and plan and trip over myself, much like that darling Captain Pugwash used to do. I typed well into the early hours of each morning, refusing to give myself any breaks or time to recharge. I prioritised my art over all else, even my own wellbeing.

I can’t do that, as much as I feel I need to. I cannot rush this process. Whilst I understand the importance of a deadline, I cannot push myself to squeeze every idea out of my head the instant I recognise it. I cannot forfeit every other area of my life in order to turn myself into a Productivity Mill. I need downtime. I need days and evenings where I can indulge in a movie or two with friends; read that novel I’ve been telling myself to read for goodness knows how long, and stare into space whilst listening to my favourite albums. I can’t do this all the time. I just can’t.

Does this mean I’m throwing the towel in on creativity? Is this me saying that 2025 was great, and all that, but it was not meant to last? Am I planning to return to my twenties? No, this is not what I’m saying at all. If 2025 has taught me anything, it’s that my dreams are possible. I can tell stories. I can write articles that I’m proud of. What’s more is that 2025 has taught me that I’m not as incapable as I once thought I was. It is the year that reminded me of what I love, and what I’m good at. 

Because the truth is, I am good at writing. Now listen, I’m not trying to come across as deluded or arrogant. I’m not saying I’m a brilliant writer. What I mean by “good” is that I possess the drive to write. I can formulate ideas, get them onto the page, acknowledge my errors, and actually commit to producing tens of thousands of words within a surprisingly fast timeframe. These are the hallmarks of someone who not only likes writing, but has the potential to write. 

I am a writer, as much as my doubts as told me otherwise over the years.

2025 was proof of that, and if anyone thinks I going to call it a day now is mistaken. I’m absolutely not giving this up. Not again.

But my output is going to diminish for a while. Because that’s the lesson I’m taking away from the previous year. Whilst I have got into the habit of creating, what I’ve also developed along the way, is a tendency to overcompensate. I haven’t just been producing articles, I’ve been churning them out. I haven’t been working on a single story, but several of them simultaneously. I’ve been trying to spin dozens of plates all at once, only to sob the moment those plates come tumbling down. 

So this year, I’m popping some of those plates down. I’ll focus on a couple at a time, shifting between them. I cannot do them all at once. I need to get comfortable with them on an individual basis. I cannot rush these things. If I do, I will collapse.

I’m slowing down. I’m taking more breaks. I’m going to learn the art of balance. My writing will continue on, but between this exercise, I need to make time for other things. There are other facets to my life which also need attention and work applied to them. This year, I need to slot these into my weekly calendars. My life needs to be more balanced.

But of course, with this shift in priorities, it does mean that I’m going to be less visible than I was over the last 12 months. My digital footprint will continue to be less active than it has been. Though it will still exist, it will not be as frequent. 

My creative output will remain, though it will be much less aggressive in its output.

To Be Continued…