Twenty Something / Christina Capecchi

A gift for yourself in 2025: planning a path to refresh your mind, body and soul

Growing up on a small farm, vacations were rare for Liz Gilbert. But one summer, her parents enlisted a neighbor to tend to their goats and chickens so the Gilberts could retreat to the beach for a week.

The morning they departed, Liz’s mom stripped her bed, washed the sheets and neatly remade the bed—as if she were preparing it for a guest.

Liz was puzzled. No one would be staying there that week. Why bother?

“Oh,” her mom explained. “This is just a little present I’m giving my future self. This way, when she comes home all tired and worn-out at the end of her vacation, she’ll have the gift of fresh, clean sheets waiting to welcome her back to her own bed.”

Liz was intrigued by the idea—and the wording. Her mom had described her future self as “she,” not “I.” It felt like “a handshake of affection across time, a way of connecting the woman of this moment to the woman of the future,” wrote Liz, who went on to become the best-selling author of Eat, Pray, Love.

Even on the days you’re full of self-loathing, Liz mused, you can still find it in your heart to do a good deed for your future self—“a deserving visitor worthy of affection, of sympathy,” she wrote, “a blameless stranger” who someday will live in the world you’re creating for her.

We tend to think in extremes, classifying daily practices either as acts of self-control or self-care. Both are loaded concepts. But when we frame our thinking as Liz’s mom did, we create a third, more welcoming category: compassion. In that broad space, all sorts of good deeds are inspired—from flossing your teeth to scheduling a colonoscopy.

It reminds me of a conversation I once had with Father Paul Scalia, son of the late Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia. Father Scalia, 53, serves the Diocese of Arlington, Va., as episcopal vicar for clergy and as pastor of St. James Parish in Falls Church, Va.

Sensing how busy he is, I asked him what time he sets his alarm.

The answer: 5 a.m.

“That’s early!” I remarked. “You have to be disciplined about going to bed early to make that possible.”

I was thinking of all the ways I delay sleep at the end of the day—putzing, puttering, clicking, scrolling.

Father Scalia didn’t miss a beat.

“All the great spiritual writers and guides emphasize this: that the victories of today were sown last night,” he said.

I was dazzled by this conclusion. Such a profound concept, put so simply. Such a diverse range of creeds, unanimous on this point. Win tomorrow’s battles tonight.

Wasting time at night can lead not only to inaction but sin, Father Scalia pointed out. He called spending too long on screens “one of the great vices,” which can “ruin things not just for that night, but means in the morning you’re not going to be at your best.”

That’s where discipline comes in, Father Scalia told me. “This is why the Church has a Liturgy of Hours. The whole concept of night prayer, Compline, is that we end the day well.” We wrap up our day peacefully, prayerfully—and punctually—setting ourselves up for the next morning.

As we look to 2025, we can sow some of its victories today. Identify a work-out buddy. Sign up for a weekly eucharistic adoration hour. Review your calendar and find an activity to drop.

And when the new year picks up speed, embrace those mundane evening rituals to help your future self. Turn off the TV. Brush your teeth. Apply the eye cream. Start the dishwasher. Lay out your outfit. Prep your bag. Say your prayers.

God blesses our humble, holy efforts.
 

(Christina Capecchi is a freelance writer from Inver Grove Heights, Minn.) †