Words of the Year: What They’ve Taught Me

I’ve learned over time that I don’t really choose my Word of the Year.

It chooses me.

Only later do I understand why.

This practice has become a quiet tradition for me — one that invites reflection instead of resolution, meaning instead of measurement. And when I look back at the words that have guided me, I can see how faithfully they’ve mirrored the seasons of my life.

2024: Water

Water was my word for 2024.

Fluid. Emotional. Uncontainable.

That year asked me to stop bracing and start allowing. To let grief come in waves instead of trying to hold it back with walls. To trust movement instead of control.

Water taught me that resistance creates suffering — and that feeling fully is not the same as falling apart.

I didn’t know it at the time, but water was preparing me to survive loss.

2025: Stardust

In 2025, my word was Stardust.

My mom died in July 2024, and this became my first full year without her. Stardust wasn’t about sparkle or escape — it was about remembrance. About learning to live with mystery instead of answers.

Stardust reminded me that nothing meaningful is ever lost. That love doesn’t disappear — it changes form. That we are made of what came before us.

I wasn’t trying to “move on” this year.
I'm learning how to live alongside absence.

2026: Bamboo

As I look toward 2026, my word is Bamboo.

Strong. Flexible. Rooted.

Bamboo doesn’t grow fast, but it grows true. It bends in storms instead of breaking. It survives not by force, but by flexibility.

This feels like the season I’m stepping into now.

Less gripping.
Less proving.
More trust.

More flow.

Bamboo doesn’t cling.
And it doesn’t perform.

It knows when to bend.

How This Became a Tradition

This Word of the Year practice began through a woman I deeply respect — a Sister Goddess — who intentionally creates space each year for reflection, creativity, and learning.

She hosts a session where we gather, choose our word, and create a simple graphic in Canva. But the real gift isn’t the design.

It’s the pause.

The intention.

The act of setting aside time to reflect — together.

I first met her at a workshop focused on Reclamation.  It was my first trip to New York City, and at the very beginning of my mom’s most challenging chapter. At the time, I couldn’t have known how much that connection — and this practice — would come to matter.

Now, looking back, it feels like a full circle moment.

What These Words Gave Me

Water taught me how to feel.
Stardust taught me how to remember.
Bamboo is teaching me how to live.

Not louder.
Not harder.
Just truer.

This is why I return to this practice year after year — not to predict what’s coming, but to listen more closely to what’s already here.

To live with intention.
To honor the season I’m in.
To choose presence over performance.

This is Living Real.

With love,
Heidi

Living Real Aloha
Resilience Empowers Authentic Living