John R. Miles

Let's choose the campfire over the stadium.

And so here we are, the start of something new.

Before the world asks you to be anything else, before the demands of a new year start pulling at your sleeve, we have this one small window to choose what travels with us.

Today, you don't have to release everything.

you only have to do one thing.

Name one piece of large group weight you've carried long enough.

Maybe it's the outrage over things you cannot change.

Maybe it's the exhaustion of trying to be seen by people who don't truly know you.

Maybe it's the quiet ache of carrying a world that was never yours to hold alone.

Thank that weight for what it once protected.

Thank it for the alertness it gave you, the empathy it tried to grow, the connection it reached for.

And then, with the same kindness you'd give a child who's finally ready to put down a heavy toy, give it permission to rest.

This isn't a resolution.

This is a vow.

I vow to be gentle with what I release today.

I vow to honor the space it leaves behind.

And I vow to fill that space with the faces and names of my true 150.

Thank you for walking the season with me.

And as we move from this quiet realization into the action of a new year, I have a very special conversation coming your way.

Next Tuesday, I'm sitting down with Stephen Post, author of Pure Unlimited Love.