Your North Star

Your name, or what you want this document titled. It can be your name, a nickname, or the version of yourself you're writing for.

Not a goal. Not a job title. The kind of person you're aiming at, in one sentence. Marcus Aurelius wrote his version every morning. Write it like you're describing a stranger you admire — then realise it's a future you.

What you will actually do this year to move toward that vision. Verbs, not adjectives. "Read one book a month" beats "be well-read". 3–5 promises to yourself you'd be ashamed to break.

What you will not trade, even when the price is right. Not what you admire — what you'd lose sleep over breaking. Pick words that would cost you something to live by.

How you want a good day to feel. Not what you do — the texture underneath it. Most people skip this section. It's the most honest one.

Your personal filter for opportunities, invitations, asks. When something lands in your inbox or your group chat, these are the questions that decide yes or no. End with the action — give yourself permission to move.

What you do when you let yourself down. Not if — when. This is the section that separates a real north star from a wish list. You will fall short. Write the path back.