Introduction: Finding My Word, Finding My Way

My 3 Intentions:

Create with Presence, not Pressure
Leave Fingerprints of Belonging
*Be Intentional about Where my Energy Lands*

Every year, I take time to pause, reflect, and choose a word that will guide me through the months ahead. It’s a quiet tradition I’ve come to rely on — not as a resolution, but as a compass. Something to return to when the year feels full, fast, or uncertain.

This year, that word is Fingerprints.

It took its time finding me. I didn’t land on it right away, and for a while, I didn’t have an answer at all. When my husband asked what my theme for the year was, I had to admit I didn’t know yet. So I sat with that. I waited. I trusted that the right word would show up in its own time, the way it always seems to.

And then it did.

Fingerprints felt immediately right — maybe a little unexpected, even a little strange — but deeply true. On the most literal level, my fingerprints are actually in my work. Every piece of jewelry I create is shaped by my hands, formed through touch, pressure, and presence. No two pieces are ever exactly the same, because no two moments of making are the same.

But the word reaches far beyond the clay.

It speaks to the marks we leave in less visible ways, too — in our relationships, in our businesses, and in the way we move through the world. It reminds me that everything we touch leaves an imprint: the art I create, the words I speak, the care I offer, and the way I show up for myself and others.

Choosing a word has never been just a tradition for me. It’s an anchor. A way of naming what I want to pay attention to. And with Fingerprints guiding me this year, I’ve set three intentions — ones that reflect how intertwined my life and my work truly are. Intentions rooted in presence, connection, and being thoughtful about where my energy and my hands leave their mark.

**A question I plan to return to often:**

***Does this piece carry my fingerprint, or just meet a deadline?***

Create with Presence, not Pressure

For much of my life, I’ve had a bit of a love–hate relationship with deadlines. I like the pressure. I’m energized by it. For a long time, I truly believed I did my best work when the clock was ticking and the stakes felt high.

And sometimes, that’s still true.

But as I get older, I can feel my relationship with pressure starting to shift.

My life is full — in beautiful ways, but full nonetheless. Balancing a full-time job alongside building Anam Cara means my time is incredibly precious. Staying organized, protecting my energy, and keeping myself sane can sometimes feel like a job in itself. There are days when the pace feels relentless, and the line between productive pressure and exhausting urgency starts to blur.

This year, I want to be more honest with myself about that.

Creating with presence, not pressure, is an intention to slow my making process and stay deeply connected to why I create in the first place. I want each piece, each color choice, each texture to feel intentional — not rushed to meet a deadline or fill a calendar. I want the work to carry my fingerprint — my story, my hand, my heart — in a way that feels thoughtful and alive.

It gently brings me back to the beginning. To the joy of making something by hand. To the belief that meaningful work takes time — and that presence can’t be hurried.

This intention isn’t about eliminating pressure entirely. Pressure can be motivating. It can sharpen focus and spark creativity. But I’m learning that it doesn’t need to be the constant driving force behind everything I do. I want pressure to be a tool, not the environment I live in.

And this intention reaches far beyond my work. Creating with presence also means slowing down in my life — savoring moments with family and friends, being fully there in conversations, laughter, and quiet. It means allowing space to rest without guilt, to plan with purpose, and to move through my days with a little more intention and a little less urgency.

These are the fingerprints I want to leave — in my work, in my relationships, and in myself. And this year, I’m doing what I can to keep burnout at the very bottom of my list of things to experience, choosing presence wherever I can, and trusting that the work — and the life — will be better for it.

**A question I plan to return to often:**

***How does this invite someone in?***

Leave Fingerprints of Belonging

Connection has always been at the heart of Anam Cara. The name itself — soul friend — is a reminder that what I create isn’t just jewelry. It’s an offering. A shared experience. A small, tangible way to say you belong here.

My hope has always been that each piece reaches someone in a way that feels meaningful — that it feels like more than an accessory. Something that makes them feel seen, welcomed, and part of a bigger story, even if we’ve never met in person.

But this intention didn’t begin with my business.

Bringing people together has always been one of the things that brings me the most joy. Whether it’s gathered around a craft table, sharing a meal at the dinner table, or creating a space where conversation flows easily, connection has always felt like home to me. I love watching people light up, finding common ground, and witnessing the quiet magic that happens when people who may not have met otherwise are invited into the same space.

That same heartbeat lives inside Anam Cara.

This year, I want to be even more intentional about leaving fingerprints of belonging — not just through the pieces I make, but through the way I communicate, the stories I share, and the community I nurture. That might look like offering more behind-the-scenes glimpses of the making process, celebrating customer stories, or including a small, thoughtful gesture with each order. Simple things, but deeply human ones.

I want the world I touch — even in small, quiet ways — to feel a little warmer and a little more connected.

Because fingerprints aren’t only about what I leave behind. They’re about the feeling someone carries with them after interacting with my work. They’re about creating spaces — both physical and emotional — where people feel at home, where connection feels natural, and where belonging is gently, intentionally woven into everything I do.

**A question I plan to return to often:**

***Is this a place I want my fingerprints to live?***

Be Intentional about Where my Energy Lands

This intention is about discernment — in business, in creativity, and in life. Time, energy, and emotional labor are precious, and I’m becoming more aware of just how many places I pour mine. Many of them are things I love, things I care deeply about, things that matter to me — and still, they take a toll.

If I’m honest, this is probably the hardest intention for me.

Most days, my energy is stretched across a lot of different pockets. I give it freely, often enthusiastically, and sometimes without fully realizing how much it costs. There are many days when I come home physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted — spent in a way that leaves very little margin. And when that happens, it can make it harder to show up with the presence and intention I want for my business and my creative work.

The reality is this: after an eight-hour workday, I often come home and head straight into the studio for another hour or so. That’s not something that happens every single day, but it is part of my life. It’s the rhythm I’m navigating right now — balancing what pays the bills, what feeds my soul, and what I’m building for the long term.

So yes, I feel a little apprehensive about this intention. I don’t have it all figured out yet. I’m not entirely sure what it will look like in practice or how smoothly it will unfold. But that’s the gift of intentions — they aren’t rigid rules or expectations. They’re touchstones. They allow for flexibility, honesty, and room to adjust as the year moves forward.

Being intentional about where my energy lands means giving myself permission to say no when a project, collaboration, or opportunity doesn’t feel aligned — even if it looks good on paper. It means choosing depth over constant motion, and trusting that slowing down doesn’t mean standing still. It means moving deliberately, with care.

If the answer to my grounding question is yes, I want to show up fully — present, engaged, and wholehearted. And if the answer is no, I want to practice letting it go gently, without guilt or self-judgment.

I don’t expect this intention to be easy. But I do expect it to teach me something. And as the year unfolds, I’ll keep you posted — learning, adjusting, and finding my way forward one intentional choice at a time.

Conclusion: Carrying Fingerprints Into the Year

These three intentions — creating with presence, leaving fingerprints of belonging, and choosing where my energy lands — are my compass for the months ahead. They remind me that my work, my life, and my relationships are intertwined in ways that can’t be separated. One informs the other. One reflects the other. Slowing down isn’t quitting; caring deeply doesn’t mean overextending; and leaving fingerprints of meaning is far more important than leaving marks everywhere.

I hope to carry this awareness into every corner of my life — the quiet moments with family and friends, the hours spent in the studio shaping clay and color, the words I speak, and the choices I make about where my time and energy go. I want to move with intention, curiosity, and presence, noticing the ways in which even small gestures can ripple outward.

This year, I want to honor the little things as much as the big things: the subtle pressure of my fingertips shaping a piece of jewelry, the quiet smiles shared over coffee with a friend, the way thoughtful planning and presence can turn ordinary moments into meaningful ones. I want to leave fingerprints that matter — tangible, visible, and invisible alike.

I know it won’t always be perfect. There will be days when I’m tired, when I feel stretched too thin, when the work, the life, and the energy all demand more than I have to give. But even in those moments, these intentions offer me a guide: a reminder to pause, to breathe, to choose what truly deserves my attention, and to continue leaving my mark in ways that feel authentic and wholehearted.

Here’s to a year of fingerprints — in the work we create, the love we share, the connections we nurture, and the lives we touch. Here’s to noticing the marks we leave, and tending them with care.

Bonus Material

Finding Your Own Word

If you’ve ever wanted a guiding word for the year but weren’t sure where to start, here’s a little advice from my own experience:

Sit with it – Don’t rush. Sometimes the word appears when you’re least expecting it, in quiet moments or in reflection.

Notice what resonates – Pay attention to words, ideas, or themes that keep coming up in your thoughts, reading, or journaling.

Think about your year ahead – What do you want more of? Less of? What energy or intention do you want to carry through the next 12 months?

Test it out – Say it aloud, write it down, or journal about it. Does it feel alive? Does it inspire or guide you?

Your word doesn’t need to be perfect — it’s not a rule, it’s a compass. Even a small, simple word can hold enormous meaning and help shape your choices, your focus, and your intentions throughout the year.

My Word for 2026