Begin with the End in Mind
- Jessica Girija Jewell
- 5 days ago
- 4 min read
Let me start by wishing you peace, love, and happiness in 2026.
At the beginning of a new year—especially one that unfolds in the heart of winter—it’s natural to turn our thoughts toward the future: to set goals, to dream, to imagine what might manifest through the efforts we make.
I think this is a wholesome way to wile away winter weather. I’ve been setting goals since at least 1989, when I first read The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. The very first habit the author names is this: begin with the end in mind.
Reflecting on that idea now, I find myself asking which end are we talking about?The end of this year?Or the end of this life?
It’s the latter question that interests me more these days. Its answer creates the context for everything that comes between now and then—the orientation that guides all the smaller plans, whether they materialize or not.
For now, the North Star of my life is summed up in a sweet and simple sentiment from a song:
“All I ask of you is forever to remember me as loving you.”
This is the end I’m beginning with.
What’s yours?
Over the years, I’ve kept some of my old goals as precious reminders of who I once was. From time to time, I read a little something from this collection, and a pattern has emerged.
The goals I set around doing, acquiring, and earning—many of those have faded from memory having been replaced by the next thing to strive towards. Some of these goals were realized, some weren’t. And even when they were, they didn’t bring the lasting sense of happiness or fulfillment I imagined they would.
Looking back, I can see that my plans were often rewritten by something, some force, much more powerful than me. The life I have now is not one I planned or could have predicted.
But there were other goals too—less tangible ones. Goals about how I wanted to be in the world. About becoming kinder, more useful, more aligned with love itself.
These goals haven’t faded.They’re still very much alive.
Looking ahead now, I feel less interested in what Mary Oliver calls “the voodoos of ambition” and more interested in how I want to be as I tend to the everyday mechanics of a well-lived life.
Yoga speaks in this language—the language of being.
The first yoga practice is ahimsa, often translated as non-violence. But B.K.S. Iyengar urges us to go further, to understand ahimsa as love in action. Not simply refraining from harm, but actively cultivating the capacity to be love.
Yoga, then, becomes a practice of clearing—body, mind, and soul—so that love can move more freely through us, as us.
Another yoga practice is santosha, contentment. My teacher Kim described it as being at peace with the process of life. Not suggesting that life is easy, but recognizing that life is not something we win or complete. It’s a continual becoming, a long series of conscious course corrections.
I’ve known moments of this kind of contentment—silent, unremarkable, deeply right. Nothing to fix. Nothing to achieve. Just a sense that life, exactly as it is, is perfect. These moments live on in the body long after the clock keeps ticking.
This, to me, is real happiness.
What has surprised me is that orienting toward love isn’t easy.
Instead of becoming the radiant being of light I imagine this goal would produce, I tend to discover all the ways I’m not able to love. I’ve found that in the effort to become a clearer channel for love, we inevitably meet the places where love doesn’t yet flow—how quickly we judge, withdraw, defend, or make others (and ourselves) small.
Perhaps one of the hidden gifts of setting goals is that they carry us into the world and into relationship. We think we’re pursuing success or security, but along the way we encounter our edges. We meet the places where our capacity for love is limited.
And when we fail—and we will—the deeper work begins.
Can we be in loving relationship with ourselves?Can we be at peace with the process of becoming love?
These questions feel especially alive now.
Astrologically, we’re in a potent period marked by the convergence of Saturn and Neptune—an alignment that occurs roughly every 36 years. Saturn represents structure, form, and definition. Neptune represents dissolution, uncertainty, and surrender. Together, they signal a time when old frameworks fade.
Because this alignment is taking place in Pisces, an energy of compassion, tenderness, and spiritual longing, the invitation is subtle but serious. In some area of life, many of us are being challenged to change familiar ways of thinking and doing—to loosen our grip on how we believe things should unfold.
It’s a time to trust that if our plans fall apart, what will emerge is in service to something we cannot yet name.
As you consider the year ahead, I invite you to take time to reflect less on what you want to do or have, and more on how you want to be in the world.
This is inner work.It’s not flashy.But it’s essential.
I’ll close with some words from adrienne maree brown’s poem titled, this is the only moment:
i breathe in
noticing the gift i too often take for
granted
not knowing how any breaths i have
left
i want to spend them
being love
I hope to see you soon—on the mat and in conversation, walking the path together.