What I’m Not Bringing Into the New Year
As this new year begins, I’m thinking less about resolutions and more about what to release.
For years, I’ve approached the month of January by considering what I want to add: new projects, new rhythms, new intentions. This year, the more honest question has been: what am I willing to set down? What no longer belongs in the life and work I’m trying to shape? I’m learning that:
Slow living isn’t only about the pace at which I produce. It’s also about how much I agree to carry in the first place.
There are a few things I’m not bringing into the new year, and naming them feels like a necessary act of care. So here goes:
1. Ceramics in my business practice
Ceramics have quickly become a meaningful part of my creative life. I love the medium of clay. It will always have a place in my life, especially working alongside friends and learning from others, in seasons when I can let the process stay tactile and unhurried.
What I’m not carrying forward is ceramics as part of my business.
The reality of making, firing, storing, and shipping ceramic work for sale asks for a pace and scale that don’t align with the kind of life or business I’m intentionally building.
That doesn’t diminish the work. It clarifies the container it belongs in.
Letting go of making ceramics for my business allows it to remain what it’s always been at its best for me: something warm, relational, and deeply, deeply enjoyable.
2. Instagram as a primary place for sharing my work
I’m also stepping away from Instagram as a central space for my creative work.
The past few years, I’ve noticed how easily it pulls me out of my own rhythms and into urgency, comparison, and noise. Even when used gently, it asks for a kind of attention that breaks apart my focus rather than deepening it.
It’s no longer the right platform for the work I’m making, or for the pace I want to live.
I’m choosing fewer places to show up so I can be more fully present where I do.
3. Carrying more than is mine to carry
The end of last year brought me to a realization: that capacity changes, even when our intentions remain good.
Over the years, I’ve taken on responsibilities and commitments out of generosity and love. In fact, volunteering in my community has always been an important part of my identity and values.
But I’m learning to notice when those commitments shift from generosity to obligation; from love to resentment. I’m beginning to understand that listening for that shift matters - and that setting down a commitment is, in its own way, an act of generosity and love. It’s an honest decision made with care. Walking away makes space for the next right person to step in. Letting go allows us to move toward what’s next.
I’m not sure if this is all I’m leaving behind; the year is an ongoing process of taking on and releasing. But I do know this:
I don’t want to build a life where fullness is measured by how much I can hold at once.
Imagine if a tree grew infinitely more leaves and branches until it was weighed down and its resources were completely depleted. There is a season for everything; this Winter is a season of release.
And so, what I’m bringing into the beginning of this year is a clearer sense of what I want my days to feel like. Fewer points of focus. Deeper attention. Work rooted in place and patience. Creative rhythms that leave room for rest instead of pushing until I need recovery.
This isn’t about doing less for the sake of it. It’s about choosing less on purpose, so that what remains can be tended with care.
I’ll share more soon.
Until then,
May you release what has grown heavy in your hands.
May you notice the quiet signals of your own capacity.
May what remains be shaped with patience, presence, and care.
And in this season of new beginnings, may you first set down what no longer belongs.
With love,
Sarah K
If we haven’t met, I’m Sarah K., a printmaker based in Richmond, Virginia. I create hand-carved linocut prints inspired by quiet places and slow rhythms, made to carry a feeling of retreat into everyday spaces.
