Happy New Year
A Toast to You, My Fellow Mind Benders
Happy New Year, my strange and wonderful readers!
Yes, you survived another trip around the cosmic roulette wheel without being eaten by giant psychic pigeons (statistically rare, but possible). That in itself is something to celebrate.
But before we step boldly into this new chapter, I want to tell you a story. A funny, slightly unsettling story with a moral hiding inside it like a fortune cookie stuffed with kale.
The Tale of the Goldfish Who Knew It Was Tuesday
Once upon a slightly damp Tuesday, I visited a carnival that only appeared once a year at midnight on New Year’s Eve. You couldn’t buy tickets; you had to accidentally find it—usually after taking a wrong turn near the kebab shop.
At this carnival, among the ghost rides and fortune-telling llamas, there was a goldfish named Trevor. Trevor was no ordinary goldfish. He wore a tiny monocle, floated in a crystal bowl filled with glow-in-the-dark water, and had the unusual gift of knowing exactly what day it was.
Yes. That was his power. Not reading minds. Not predicting the future. Just an unwavering certainty that it was Tuesday.
And here’s the twist: Trevor never once got it wrong. Even if the rest of the world declared it Wednesday, he’d look at you, burble ominously, and whisper (in fluent goldfish telepathy):
“Check again, mortal. It’s Tuesday.”
He was always right. Always.
The Lesson of Trevor
You’re probably thinking: “Ryan, why in the name of bent spoons and ESP cards are you telling me about a time-obsessed aquatic prophet?”
Here’s the point: Trevor didn’t try to be anything else. He didn’t attempt spoon bending. He didn’t try card tricks. He didn’t dabble in hypnosis or astral projection. He leaned fully into his weird, hyper-specific talent.
And that’s the moral for the New Year:
Stop trying to be everything. Start being more of the one thing only you can be.
If your strength is storytelling, double down on it.
If your talent is creating bizarre tricks with rubber chickens, polish that until the feathers shine.
If your gift is making people laugh until they forget their troubles, then congratulations—you’re doing the universe’s work.
Trevor the goldfish wasn’t worried about what other fish thought. He knew his lane. He swam in it proudly.
Jokes You Didn’t Ask For (But You’re Getting Anyway)
- My New Year’s resolution was to stop procrastinating… but I’ll start tomorrow.
- I tried to give up chocolate, but chocolate never gave up on me.
- Magician’s resolutions are funny. “This year, I’ll finally shuffle properly.” (Yeah, good luck with that.)
Why Mentalists Need Resolutions (and Why Most Fail)
Here’s the thing about resolutions: most of them vanish faster than a deck switch in a dark pub.
By February, the gym is empty, the journal is blank, and the only thing consistent is our ability to forget why we even started.
But mentalists—ah, we are a peculiar breed. We thrive on practice, discipline, and the delicate art of convincing strangers that we know their mother’s maiden name. Resolutions, when used properly, can become powerful tools of transformation.
The trick is to make them mentalism-friendly. No vague “get better at magic.” Instead, things like:
- Perform one impromptu effect every day, even if it’s just for the postman.
- Master one new principle a month.
- Journal every reaction you get from an audience.
And yes, laugh at yourself along the way. If you don’t, you’ll end up as serious as a rabbit stuck in a hat with no exit strategy.
A Checklist for Your Weirdly Wonderful New Year
Here’s a carnival-approved, Ryan-Mentis-endorsed checklist to help you set new goals this year. Stick it on your wall. Tattoo it on your forehead backwards so you can read it in the mirror. Whatever works.
🎭 The Mentalist’s New Year Checklist
- Define Your Stage Persona
- Are you a mysterious oracle, a playful trickster, or a psychic goldfish in disguise?
- Refine your character so audiences remember you.
- Learn One New Skill That Scares You
- Cold reading?
- Hypnotic phrasing?
- Delivering jokes that don’t flop? (Harder than it sounds.)
- Commit to Rehearsal Rituals
- Practice as if each session is a sacred ritual. Light a candle. Chant. Wear odd socks. Whatever anchors you.
- Create One New Effect This Year
- No excuses. Even if it’s weird. ESPECIALLY if it’s weird.
- Put your fingerprint on the mentalism world.
- Perform Outside Your Comfort Zone
- Busking, Zoom shows, or performing at your aunt’s awkward wedding. Growth hides in discomfort.
- Record and Reflect
- Every show is data. Film it. Watch it back. Yes, even the cringe parts.
- Prioritise Mental Health
- Rest. Meditate. Laugh. Don’t burn out trying to bend spoons when your own brain is bent out of shape.
- Celebrate Every Win
- Applause, a smile, or even one jaw drop. Mark it down. Build momentum.
- Join the Conversation
- Forums, blogs, secret societies (or my weird corner of the internet). Share your journey.
- Stay Weird
- The world doesn’t need another carbon copy. Embrace the odd. That’s where magic lives.
A Carnival Toast to You
So, here’s to you, dear reader.
To the dreamers with too many notebooks.
To the skeptics who secretly want to believe.
To the performers who know that mystery is medicine for the soul.
This New Year, may your audiences gasp, your props behave, and your socks never match.
And if you ever feel lost, remember Trevor the goldfish: just be the thing only you can be, even if it’s as oddly specific as knowing it’s Tuesday.
Final Joke (Because Why Not)
If 2025 were a mentalism effect, it would be a book test:
- Half the audience would insist you forced the page.
- One guy would shout, “It’s a stooge!”
- And yet, at the end, they’d all clap anyway.
Happy New Year, my friends. Let’s make it magical.
Stay Weird
ЯYΛП MΣПƬIƧ
International Man of Mischief
Founder of The Temple of Mentis
Summoner of The Oddsock Oracle™