New Year, Attention, and the Practice of 13 Wishes
This past holiday season felt quieter and more stripped back than usual. It came at the end of a year shaped by travel, study, illness, and a growing sense of saturation — with images, information, and systems constantly competing for attention. I found myself less interested in consuming and more in resting, listening, and re-examining what actually feels sustaining.
I didn’t want a new year framed by resolution or productivity. I was craving something slower — a realignment rather than a reset. It was in this context that I encountered the 13 Wishes ritual, a contemplative practice associated with European folk traditions around the turn of the year. The ritual involves writing thirteen wishes or intentions, releasing one at a time, and leaving the final wish as something you are responsible for tending yourself.
(You can read a thoughtful overview of the practice here → The magic of 13 wishes)
What surprised me was not the ritual itself, but what surfaced when I engaged it. One of my wishes revealed itself simply as this: I have enough time.
As I sat with it, I realized how deeply that belief — or lack of it — has shaped my life. As a single parent, an artist, and a student, time often feels like the scarcest resource. The sense of “never enough” has a way of pushing me past my limits, often at the expense of my health.
Holding the idea that I do have enough time changed something quietly but decisively. It suggested that care — for my body, my work, my relationships — doesn’t have to be rushed. That attention, placed deliberately, is itself a form of stewardship. And in turn, a well fed and rested and cared for body has more energy to accomplish what I hope to.
I’ve been thinking more and more about attention as a practice: what I allow it to rest on, what I refuse to give it away to, and how it shapes the quality of my days. When attention is scattered — consumed by endless scrolling, urgency, or noise — time contracts. When attention is tended carefully, time seems to open.
This is my guide for the new year: not through resolution, but through alignment. I’m not aiming for perfection, but practice. In today’s world, choosing who I give my attention to feels like the greatest form of rebellion. And in this year of the horse, in these troubled times, it feels like a superpower.
