Congratulations to Mary Carmel Serna for Winning the January 2026 Barefoot Writing Challenge! (Your $100 prize is on its way!)
The challenge was to write an essay that answered this prompt:
Instead of a New Year’s resolution, what single guiding word would you choose as a directive for how you want to show up in 2026?
Mary shared a vulnerable and relatable account of what’s held her back and what’s propelling her forward in her writing career. Enjoy her winning submission:
Audacity
by Mary Serna
Why I’m choosing the word people sometimes side-eye — and why that slight discomfort is exactly the point
Wild became reckless somewhere between childhood and adulthood. The girl who moved cross-country twice with only what fit in her car — no job in San Diego, no contacts in Baltimore — had her boldness renamed by people who mistook certainty for wisdom. But I’m done accepting their translation. In 2026, I’m reclaiming audacity.
Audacity isn’t carelessness. It’s refusing to let caution become a cage. It’s the cure for the timidity that keeps people stuck, for a culture that treats caution like a virtue. I spent 20-plus years in compliance. I know the difference between calculated risk and stupidity. Audacity is choosing the former even when everyone around you sees only the latter.
Yes, audacity carries baggage — entitled, arrogant, unearned confidence. But it doesn’t mean ignoring reality. It means trusting I’ve already survived enough to know I can figure out what’s next. Last year I left my role as senior manager and vice president at a Fortune 500 company because it hollowed me out with a deep, soul-shaking, bone-weary fatigue that seeped into every corner of my life. Now I’m launching a solo agency because I want to see how successful I can be for myself. These weren’t reckless decisions. They were audacious in the best sense.
The opposite of audacity isn’t humility, it’s self-abandonment. It’s choosing the fear of what others think over faith in what I know I’m capable of. Maybe you know that feeling. The safe choice that’s slowly killing something in you. The dream you keep explaining away.
This year, audacity looks like cold-emailing sustainability consultants and climate tech leaders I have no business knowing. Ghostwriting thought leadership for founders who don’t have time to write their own story. Pricing my services like I’m already the expert I’m becoming. Building something with my name on it instead of hiding behind corporate approval. The voice that whispers, Who do you think you are? gets loud when I hover over “send.” My stomach shrinks. But audacity doesn’t ask me to stop being afraid. It asks me to click anyway.
I want 2026 to feel like jumping off a cliff — that moment when your lungs fill with sharp air and gravity hasn’t decided what to do with you yet. And then realizing: I have wings.
