Have a Beautiful, Terrible New Year.

Embracing Joy, Pain, and Everything in Between.

“How long?” my sister asked me, her voice carrying the weight of the question. “How long is long?”

We were talking about long-suffering—the kind that doesn’t seem to end. The kind the Bible speaks of, where years stretch into decades and endurance feels like the only option. The kind that makes life itself feel like a scam if you forget the promise etched into the heart of every story: In this life, you will meet trouble.

After we spoke, she sent me a book titled Have a Beautiful Terrible Day. When I opened the package, I stared at the title for what felt like forever. The words—“beautiful” and “terrible”—were tangled together, softened by the delicate font, yet weighty in meaning. For a moment, I just held the book in my hands, letting its truth wash over me. This is it, I thought. Someone understood. Life isn’t one thing or the other—it’s both.

Beautiful. Terrible.

December has been no different for me. A part of me wants to rearrange the sequence, to have the terrible come first, as if it might somehow make the beautiful more triumphant. But the truth is, the beauty doesn’t wait. It supersedes the terrible, weaving its way through even the darkest moments, refusing to let despair have the last word.

This duality—the ability to carry both the best and the worst at the same time—is what makes us human.

At my Aunty Chizor’s funeral two weeks ago. A beautiful terrible day.

People often say creativity comes from darkness, and perhaps that’s true to some degree. Vulnerability does bring a certain rawness to our work. But I don’t believe you have to be sad or broken to create. What I’ve found is that when you’re most honest—when you show up, stripped of pretense—what you create has the power to resonate deeply.

And yet, as humans, we resist. We tell ourselves that this refining process—this endless shaping and molding—must surely have an end point. That one day we’ll arrive, perfected, and finally live the life we’ve imagined. But the truth is, the refining doesn’t stop. The shaping doesn’t stop. The beautiful terrible day isn’t a season. It’s the premise.

So how do we live with that? How do we wake up every morning knowing that the terrible will show up, sometimes uninvited and often unexpected?

Maybe the answer is to meet it with open hands. To say, Ah, Trouble. I knew you’d come. Sit down. You’re not alone. Joy is here, too. Creativity is here. Laughter is here. Misery doesn’t get to stay long—it’s restless, after all. It will eventually get bored and leave.

This year, I’ve been wrestling with creative regrets. The things I said I’d do but didn’t. The ideas I shelved. The dreams I let gather dust because fear told me they weren’t worth pursuing. Creativity, which should be our refuge, often becomes negotiable. And yet, it is the thing that sustains us.

Yesterday, I picked up a book and started reading. Not scrolling. Not skimming. Reading. And suddenly, I was a child again—immersed in a story, completely untouchable by the outside world. I remembered how limitless those moments felt, how they unlocked entire universes within me.

Somewhere along the way, that ability slipped through my fingers. Distractions crept in, screens took over, and my imagination dulled. But as I read yesterday, I realized something: I still love to read. I just haven’t made space for it.

So here’s my promise to myself for 2025: to make room. To create intentional space for the things that fuel my creativity, for the practices that make me feel most alive. Because creativity doesn’t thrive in chaos; it needs tenderness, patience, attention.

The terrible will still come—that’s inevitable. But when I’m anchored in the things that bring me joy, the terrible won’t have the power to knock me over. It can shake me, but it can’t break me.

I want the same for you. Whatever regrets you’re carrying—creative or otherwise—let them guide you, not weigh you down. Let them point you toward what truly matters, what still has time to be reclaimed.

Creativity is your lifeline. It’s your freedom, your silver lining. It doesn’t belong at the bottom of your to-do list. It’s the thread that ties the beauty and the terrible together.

So don’t abandon it. Don’t abandon yourself.

People will disappoint you—they’re wired to, in ways both small and profound. But don’t let that stop you from showing up for your dreams. Don’t let that stop you from choosing yourself.

As we step into 2025, I hope you’ll hold your creativity close. Protect it fiercely. Show up for it with the same urgency you’d bring to something fleeting and precious. Because that’s what it is.

Life will be beautiful. It will be terrible. Sometimes, it will be both at once. But that duality is what makes it whole, what makes it worth living.

Creative Practice:

1. List Your Regrets
   Write down 3-5 creative regrets—unfinished projects, unpursued ideas, forgotten dreams.

2. Pick One
   Choose the regret that tugs at you most. It’s not a failure—it’s a guide.

3. Take One Small Step
   Turn that regret into action.

4. Reflect Daily
   End your day with this question: How did taking this step make me feel?

5. Build Momentum
   Keep going. Small, consistent actions create big changes.

Regret isn’t the end—it’s your starting point.

Recommended Reading

Here’s to the beautiful, terrible days ahead. May they be filled with courage, joy, and the kind of creativity that lights you up from the inside out.

xoxo,

Nicole