It’s the new year, and I am reflecting. Looking back at 2018 and all the good stuff that happened. Usually, by the second week of January, I’m already entrenched in my list of resolutions. Giddy to have another go at the areas of my life that need improvement. Grateful for the forgiveness and chance at redemption that January 1 always brings. Of course, this mindset causes the majority of my goals to read familiar: eat clean, drink less, exercise more, meditate daily, stop yelling, better connect with loved ones, send out friggin’ holiday cards like all the normal families out there, and, oh, yeah, sell a project for a big whack of cash. I’ve written this list so many times that I know it by heart. I also know that each of these goals stems from some rote feeling of failure or longing. That no matter what increment of success I achieve throughout a year, December will arrive once again with the exact same verdict: Not good enough. And I will hit the reset button, like I always do, glad for the opportunity to start over.

But this year is different. This year there are no canned resolutions based on habitual reactions to my perceived inadequacies. This year, I have crafted a list of everything that went right. An assignment given to me by a coach that I’m working with who asked me to identify all the stuff that worked over the past twelve months: the accomplishments and wins, the feelings of joy and abundance, the moments of generosity and support. Whether big or small, from every aspect of life, I was to write them all down. What I could not do was linger, even for a second, on feelings of pain, loss, loneliness, insecurity, disappointment or scarcity. No matter how significant or worthy they felt, I could only dwell on the good. Try this exercise for even five minutes. Run your hand over the topography of an entire year, and you’ll realize how hard it is to ignore the valleys. Because life is full of them. And to be totally frank, I sometimes enjoy a good jolt of heartache and angst. Like empty carbs, they are momentarily delicious and energizing. I mean there is nothing like a dose of self-loathing to get me out the door for a run, or stop me from finishing my son’s half-eaten In-N-Out burger, or glue me to a chair to pound out a thousand words. Pain as a motivator wins hands down over self-celebration. And yet, that wasn’t the task.

I spent two weeks reflecting on 2018 and compiling the required data. In the end, I came up with 23 distinct moments of pure goodness. I know that sounds like a small number given the length of a year, but at 52 my memory’s a little janky, and I didn’t want to feign “bliss” where it didn’t exist. On my list were monumental events like traveling with my family to Latvia last summer. Others were tiny like a particular game of Monopoly with my son. There were hard-won highlights like hitting publish after finishing some tough writing and unexpected gems like a spontaneous trip to Savannah with a dear friend to visit and support another dear friend. In all, nearly two dozen beautiful moments up and down the calendar that absolutely deserved remembering.

Alas, my task wasn’t over. There’s a second part. Now that I have the list, I am to harness its core energy and use it as my power source for 2019. An organic stockpile of self-made rocket fuel available to help drive and support my work, relationships, family life, physical and spiritual health. When you consider the formula, it’s genius really: take all the good you have to make more good. Right under my nose all along. What’s even more interesting about this exercise and its results are the themes of success that bubbled to the surface, like self-care, connection, consistency, and communication. Which, wouldn’t you know, happen to be the exact same ones that dominate my resolutions each and every year. It’s just that this new version celebrates their abundance, while the old one focuses on their lack. How’s that for a shift in perspective?

So, cheers to 2019 and a year full of good. Chances are that even with this improved mindset I will not be sending out a holiday card. But if I were to, it would wish for everyone to focus more on the peaks than the valleys and to enjoy all the flat grassy meadows in between.