Ready or Not Here Comes Another Year
This might be the easiest of goodbyes there ever can be, albeit a most forgettable one.
It is that time of the year again. When everyone feels the need to share their hot takes on the last year, a rewind of sorts. You have probably seen all the posts, all of the noise out there in the abyss. It could be that these words of mine only add to the cacophony. After losing myself in the barrage of posts, I needed a breather. As usual, I took to the page to quieten all the frantic opinions racing through my mind.
Could I be the only one asking myself if it is such a great thing that a date changes? I do not mean to trivialise celebration, I love a celebration. But after the kind of years we have had in recent times, there is just a little seed of trepidation when a new year knocks on my door. I find myself staring at the ceiling wondering if I am ready for what is to come, and if at all what comes will be any different than it already is. There is always hope, but this is where I stand.
Another year goes by and we leave it far behind us, in the dust, or at least we try. We look ahead, steadfast as ever, trying not to catch sight of past selves in the rearview mirror. This is life, not a chase, not a choice. There is only a road ahead, and that is all we get.
Every time we finish a revolution around the Sun, we tend to look forward to something. As if we might have reached the rainbow’s end — perhaps a pot of gold, or something more that awaits us? Everyone is sharing their glories, wonders, adventures. You’ll find a running theme across the internet right now, the preferred flavour of the month as it seems.
No matter how tough or easy the years are, I have made a habit of leaving myself little notes at the end of each year, the promissory sort. Let us call it a tradition. These letters were meant to ground me, a little pause after the endless passing of time to reset. I had the chance to look through them, as I tried to conceive what I have to say about this year. All I can say is, I was an optimistic kid.
It is another matter that I come from a country where different communities celebrate the new year at different times according to their calendars. It was hard as a child to reconcile these multiple concepts of time. I am yet to resolve my mixed feelings about the “new year.” Later in March and then again in April I am going to be embroiled in the same debate with myself. Although I must admit, sometimes having options for dates is a great loophole if you have not hit a few of those resolutions and need a little bit of extra time catching up to the next year.
Ultimately, the majority wins, as it does and I made the choice of sharing this on the most popular New Year’s Eve. In this letter, what should I leave? Usually I leave myself a list of small joys and wins, while also covering in great detail what I did not accomplish. The important and the unimportant, as a way to let myself know that it does not matter as long as I keep going.
I know my wins as I do my battles, they have been equally consuming, exhilarating, and tiresome. The listing often leads to asking, what more could I have done? And, honestly, in 2025, if there was space for anything more to be done, it was rest.
This year I do not feel up to stocktaking, it feels redundant after the year we have had. I have no qualms admitting it was a whirlwind. We like to measure only what we did and rarely how we felt. Wouldn’t it be better if we didn’t have to recap the entire year, relive all that we grew out of? Ergo, I am changing the format for myself — no recaps, no gloating, no self-pity, no lists, and least of all no promises.
Next year, in fact tomorrow, when I wake up at leisure and read this I hope I take away a feeling that we made it. Not in a weepy, glorious way, but a simple reassurance that we did it, whatever it means to us. It does not have to be small or big, maybe we tried something new, or we just managed to get through our days, or figured out solutions to a simple problem, or continue to stand here despite all our problems.
Whatever it might be, we made it. We survived the year and all the wondering — will we be ok? We don’t have all the answers yet, and to be honest, some of those answers may not be important.
Every year, we go through the motions. We start on a grand high, we expect better of ourselves, and the world. Through the year, we watch these expectations fall, as we scramble to do what we have always done, follow our routines, do our duties, take care of our health, and not to forget, all the while trying our level best to have fun.
But. The unfortunate truth is that the world stops for nobody continuously shifting beneath our feet — people change, views change, policies change, stock prices change, climates change, and it goes on. The exhaustion we feel coming out of another year then is nothing short of a badge of honour.
We try ever so hard to tune it all out. So we travel, we eat, we run, we sleep, we celebrate. We do everything we can that makes us feel human again, reminding ourselves of joy however fleeting. With all of this at play, isn’t 2025 just a milestone?
I have been thinking of what 2025 means to me. The end of my twenties? Yes, that is a fact I have made my peace with, reluctantly of course. Beyond that I haven’t been able to put a finger on it yet. All I feel is a sense of relief.
It was a year of making it through, it was also a year of doing things I never thought I could do, daring myself to believe in goodness through a very demanding year because I came into it without goals, without a guarantee of anything going according to plan, and most of it didn’t. Some of it though, led to great opportunities, and most of all clarity.
I write this while trying to enjoy all the rest I saved up for the end of the year, when the whole world tends to slow down and take a break. It feels easier to rest when everyone is because all my life, rest had to be earned. Breaking that pattern of thinking is something I am working on.
In the letters I wrote to myself before this, I would write grandiose things. Set goals like they would make or break me. It is nice to be softer on yourself, and in doing so, we realise how many other goals we meet on the daily. The random ones, the ones that we did not consider important. This year, apart from writing more words than I had collectively written over the five years before this, I also spent time getting to know myself. I might value that more.
In all my letters there was one constant, I always hoped the next year would be better, it would be “my year”, or, a year where all my challenges would miraculously cease to exist. Now, I see the year for what it is and the only way forward is through. Perhaps, that is the growth 2025 left me with.
What I do know with confidence is that 2026 is not going to be a refuge from 2025. For once I am seeing hope in the present rather than the future, and that might be a sign to let 2025 go when the clock strikes twelve. I do not see an end or a beginning, I see time for what it is, just another continuation. I do not hope for redemption or for success. We can only do what we always do. I am pretty sure 2026 will be no different.
Come tomorrow, I shall walk down the empty streets, early on a wintery morning (I can try but will not be up past twelve am) before the city is awake while letting the cold breeze wake me from my slumber. I will think about the state of the world, think about breakfast, oh, and remind myself to water the plants. Distraction will find me in some oddly shaped cloud for a moment too long allowing me to think up a poem, before I almost trip, and eventually reach the diner, where the little bell over the door will ring announcing my arrival. When I put on my best smile I know I will be ready for the day to begin and maybe the year too.
I hope you will be ready too. See you in 2026!