I am sitting in the park on my picnic blanket, beneath a tree, surrounded by silence.

Not an uncomfortable silence. Not one that needs to be filled immediately, but the kind that gives my thoughts enough room to find me.

And as I sit here, I find myself thinking about what it is I truly want.

From love.
From friendship.
From life.
From myself.

I want to be seen and understood.

I want to receive love that feels designed specifically for me—not generic, assumed, or based only on what someone is naturally comfortable giving. I want intentional love. Love that knows me, studies me, and understands how to reach me.

I want to grow in love.

I want to be taught love, not because I do not know how to love, but because I believe there are still forms of love I have not experienced. There are softer, safer, deeper ways of loving and being loved that I am still discovering.

I want to laugh until I cry, until my stomach hurts and I can barely breathe.

I want a life filled with moments that make me forget to monitor myself—moments when I can simply be present, free, and happy.

Maybe all of this could exist with one person, but it does not necessarily have to. I am learning that one person does not have to be the source of everything. A full life can hold many kinds of love, connection, intimacy, and belonging.

Still, within romantic love, I want to feel desired and pursued consistently.

I want to be affirmed in my attractiveness by my partner. Not because my confidence should depend entirely on someone else’s approval, but because I want to feel admired by the person who chooses to be with me. I want to know that they see me and are still drawn toward me.

I want to feel missed.

Even when the words are not spoken directly, I want to recognize it in their actions—the way they reach for me, anticipate seeing me, make room for me, and move toward me.

I want love that speaks in a language I can understand.

I do not want to constantly decode someone’s behaviour to determine whether I matter to them. I do not want to build entire stories out of small gestures because clarity is absent. I want care that is visible, consistent, and recognizable.

I want friends.

Not simply people to spend time with, but friends who are aligned with the kind of life I want to live. Friends whose values, intentions, and ideas about connection are compatible with mine.

I want friends who genuinely care about me—not only about what I can do for them, provide for them, organize for them, or make possible.

I want friends who remember me.

Friends who think about me when I am not standing directly in front of them. Friends who check in, initiate, make space for me, and love on me in ways that resemble the way I naturally love on the people I care about.

I want friendships where care does not flow in only one direction.

I want friends who can have difficult conversations with love. Friends who can listen without immediately becoming defensive, acknowledge when harm has been caused, take accountability, and care enough about the relationship to pursue repair instead of avoidance.

I want friends who challenge me and hold me accountable.

I also want them to affirm me, encourage me, and celebrate me—and I want to offer those same things in return.

I want reciprocity.

Not a constant accounting of who called whom or who did more, but a shared willingness to invest, initiate, support, and show up. I want relationships where I do not have to overfunction to keep the connection alive.

I want financial abundance.

Not necessarily extreme wealth, but enough stability that I am not constantly worried about money. I want to feel secure. I want the freedom to take care of myself, support the people I love when appropriate, enjoy my life, and prepare for my future without living in fear.

I want to travel.

I want to experience new places, cultures, food, people, and perspectives. I want to meet new versions of myself in unfamiliar environments. I want memories that remind me that my life is larger than my responsibilities, relationships, and routines.

I want to learn how to enjoy my own company without believing that someone else must fill the silence.

Maybe that is part of why I am here today—sitting alone beneath this tree, on a picnic I decided to give myself.

I want solitude to feel like companionship with myself, not evidence that I have been forgotten.

I want to love myself through and through.

Not only when I am productive, attractive, useful, emotionally composed, or being chosen by someone else. I want to love myself when I am uncertain, grieving, changing, lonely, hopeful, imperfect, and still figuring everything out.

I want to stop waiting for other people to love me before I permit myself to feel loved.

That does not mean pretending I do not need anyone. It does not mean becoming so independent that nobody can reach me. I still want connection. I still want to be held, remembered, desired, considered, and cared for.

But I also want to take responsibility for loving myself in healthy, honest, and sustainable ways.

I want to stop abandoning myself while waiting for someone else to choose me.

I want to live fully and without regret.

I want love in its greatest form—romantic love, friendship, family, community, and the love I cultivate within myself. Love that is expansive, reciprocal, intentional, honest, and freeing.

And this is what I am working toward in this new year of my life.

Not perfection.

Not a life without disappointment, rejection, conflict, or loss. But a life that feels increasingly honest and aligned with the person I am becoming.

A life where I am no longer waiting to be chosen before I choose myself.

I know I may not receive everything at once. Some of what I desire will require patience. Some of it will require courage. Some of it may require me to create new boundaries, have uncomfortable conversations, release certain relationships, and become more discerning about where I invest my love and energy.

It may require me to accept that understanding someone’s limitations does not mean I must continually live within them.

It may require me to stop trying to earn what should be offered freely.

It may require me to leave room for new people, new experiences, and new forms of love to find me.

But I am willing to do that.

I am working toward relationships where I am seen, remembered, desired, celebrated, challenged, and cared for.

Relationships where I can offer love generously without disappearing inside of what I give.

Relationships where love is not something I must constantly carry, prove, earn, or decode.

I am working toward financial peace, meaningful experiences, deeper friendships, intentional love, and a stronger relationship with myself.

I am working toward a life that does not merely appear full from the outside, but genuinely feels fulfilling to me.

This is not simply a list of what I wish other people would give me.

It is a vision for the life I am choosing to build.

A life I am willing to participate in creating.

A life in which I can love others deeply without leaving myself behind.

That is what I want.

And in this new year of my life, I am giving myself permission to pursue it.