Endings Beginnings

The purpose of life is to experience

I was born a Sagittarius, a horse, and the trait I identify with most is optimism. It lives in my DNA. I am, irrevocably, a hopeless optimist, even in the darkest of moments. I am also an idealist, a dreamer, someone often elsewhere entirely—in the past, or the future, deep inside a book or a movie.

As we say goodbye to the year of the Wood Snake, I feel an unexpected joy leaping into the year of the Fire Horse. Partly because it feels like a good omen, and partly because it feels deeply personal.

Horses are mirrors. They ground us. They do not judge; they meet us only through the energy we bring. To be with horses is to return to the body, to presence, to self. They remind us who we are. They stop us from getting lost.

At the end of each year, I feel a familiar urgency stirring. I make a moodboard for my year ahead (images are my love language) while also reflecting on the one just lived. (I also get excited for my favorite astrologer to upload her reading for the year ahead, but this usually happens after my moodboard is complete). Some images come with me. Some quietly fall away. And some, the most tender ones, have blossomed into reality: my Greencard, a soul tribe, dinner parties, homemade pasta.

The new year always feels like a rebirth. A clean slate, a new start, a new version of myself. This year feels different. I feel paralyzed. Not because I’m hopeless, but because I find myself out of breath after making the impossible possible.

For years now each year has been harder than the one before. Fighting to make our film, Not Made for This World. Applying for an Artist visa. Moving halfway across the world from London to Los Angeles, leaving everything behind. Losing my first love, my dachshund Harvey. Navigating endless bureaucratic firsts (social security, driver’s license, taxes in a foreign country). Watching Not Made for This World fall apart because of the SAG and WGA strikes. Not having income in the US. Moving apartments because I could no longer afford rent. Going through a skin-changing breakup that nearly undid me. Witnessing my city burn for 24 days while loved ones evacuated and lost their homes. Selling my car to pay for my immigration lawyer. Applying for a greencard amid an intimidating political climate with everything on the line. Being let go from my job in Europe.

There was a certain ignorance (maybe recklessness?) that carried me through. I had to stay numb to the severity of my circumstances in order to survive. Anyone who understood the odds would have told me to pack my suitcase and return to Europe where it was safe. Los Angeles was literally burning to ashes. But my inner compass is strong, without a doubt. I had this deep innate knowing, and trust, that if there was one place on earth where I was willing to endure, it was here, in Los Angeles.

Now, as my nervous system can finally unbrace, and I find myself inhabiting my body again, I can see how breathless these mountains have left me.

2025 was uncertain, stressful, chaotic. And somehow, it was also strengthening, courageous, bold, beautiful, unforgettable. If I learned anything, it is that the purpose of life is to experience. And healing happens when we share our experiences with others. The light is always there, even when we cannot see it.

Lessons I want to remember from 2025:

Anything you set your mind to is possible. In February, Fran and I said we wanted to direct a play. By August, we had produced and directed The Anarchist (written by Karina Wiedman) and sold out three nights at LA Dance Project.

Community is everything. Know your soul tribe. Care for them. We are not meant to endure alone. Be vulnerable. Laugh together. Cry together. There is a quiet, radical power in being witnessed.

Ask for help and let yourself receive. This is huge. I am someone who deeply believes in showing up tirelessly for those I love, yet I rarely allow others to show up for me. Somewhere deep down, I didn’t believe they would. This year has taught me otherwise. The younger version of me is still shaken, in the best way.

Be kind. Even when hopeless, help others. And animals. A smile from a stranger carries more tenderness than anything money can buy.

Boundaries are vital. They are not walls. They are care. My nervous system finally understands this now.

Needs are not burdens. Anyone who has read our screenplay - or been romantically involved with me - knows that I am very good at erasing my own needs, thanks to a mix of childhood conditioning and my abandonment wound. In trying to be invisible, I paradoxically took up more space.

You can’t change others, only yourself. Believe people when they show you who they are.

Art heals everything. Cinema has always been an invitation to excavate my own memories and otherness. This year I feel especially seen by some of my all time favorite filmmakers. Hamnet by Chloe Zhao is one of the most healing films I’ve ever witnessed. I similarly feel deeply understood by The Chronology of Water (Kristen Stewart) and Lydia’s desire to find herself through writing. Art offers fragments that help us recognize ourselves.

Be accountable with your words. And hold others accountable to theirs. There’s power in words, even the ones you choose not to say.

Allow yourself to be misunderstood. As a child who was deeply misunderstood, I put a lot of energy into being understood. However, in doing so I morphed into an almost unrecognizable version of self. Let go of others expectations of you and see what happens. This is a radical act of self trust and love.

Some connections are meant to live in their original form, untouched by time. A connection, no matter how long or short lived, has its own energy that exists forever. Others find you, follow you, teach you, haunt you — and love you again and again.

Believe in love. This one I’m taking with me, bruised and blooming.

As I find myself reflecting the old, and prophesying in the new, I find myself conflicted. This year has shifted my universe, in the best way, and simultaneously it cost me deeply. I want to believe in wiping the slate clean, in marrying myself to a new set of images that represent rebirth, rejuvenation, revival. And yet, I don’t want to forget. I want to keep the wounds as proof. A keepsake. I want to tend to them. A reminder, that anything is possible if you are willing to be messy and courageous.

For 2026, I’m choosing more milestones, more change, more transformation. Less performance. More connection.

On Christmas Day, I mentioned to my dear friends that I am choosing a word for the new year. I chose fun. What word are you choosing?

photo by Emily Knecht

Fun.
Playfulness.
Freedom.
Love.

Care less—
Love more.

The purpose of life is to experience.

Leap with me.
I dare you.

A xx