Now That’s What I Call a Breakdown

Okay, July. Let’s do this.

First half of 2025 has been… a lot. Like, emotionally rollercoastering through a glitter factory. Some highs, some lows, a lot of sticky residue from things I thought I was done feeling. But I’m not gonna spiral about it right now—this post is about lighting things up, and I’m choosing to light a spark forward, not burn out backward.

So: goals. Tiny, weird, but real.

• I want to finish listening to all the UK #1 hits from 1953 by the end of July. Yes, that means slogging through crooners, warbling sopranos, novelty orchestras, and songs where everyone sounds like they’re singing from inside a teapot. Every track feels like time travel filtered through a dusty gramophone, and sometimes I cry because I miss a world I’ve never lived in. Or maybe because I’m listening to 70-year-old love songs at 3am with no context and a headache.
• I want to say “yes” to at least one creative impulse a week, even if it’s just sticking googly eyes on something that didn’t ask for them.
• I want to walk outside at golden hour more often. Not for steps or goals or health or whatever. Just to feel like I’m in a music video where I’m the main character and the strings are swelling behind me.
• I want to be softer. Not quieter, but kinder—to myself especially. I’m too good at giving grace to everyone else and leaving none for me.

If the second half of 2025 is a story, I want it to be one where I tried. Where I let myself get weirdly, deeply, honestly emotional over forgotten chart-toppers and didn’t apologize for it. Where I remembered that pop doesn’t have to be current to be powerful. Where I kept showing up—even when it meant listening to yet another Percy Faith instrumental.