The calendar on my wall is running out of pages. As I look at the final days of December here in our community, I do not feel the usual rush to celebrate or the frantic energy to list resolutions. Instead, I feel a quiet heaviness mixed with something surprising—a deep, settling peace. This year did not go according to plan. For many of us, it was a year that unraveled our expectations and forced us to look at the frayed edges of our lives.
It was difficult. There is no need to sugarcoat the struggles we faced. But within that difficulty, something shifted. We broke, yes, but in the breaking, we found pieces of ourselves we did not know existed. As we stand on the threshold of a new year, I want to invite you to look back not with regret, but with the gentle eyes of someone who has survived and grown.
When the Ground Shakes
I remember a specific Tuesday in March when everything felt like it was collapsing. The plans I had carefully constructed were dissolving, and the stability I relied on felt like sand slipping through my fingers. Maybe you had a Tuesday like that, too.
It is terrifying when the ground shakes. We are taught to fear instability. We spend our lives building fortresses against uncertainty. But this year taught me that safety is not in the walls we build; it is in our ability to stand when the walls come down.
Resilience is not about being unbreakable. It is about being flexible enough to bend without snapping. It is the quiet courage to wake up the next morning, make coffee, and face the day, even when your heart feels heavy. This year stripped away the superficial layers of "being okay" and asked us to be real instead.
The Gift of Uncomfortable Emotions
We often run from sadness, anxiety, or grief. We treat them like intruders in our home. But this year, they moved in and sat at the dinner table. Initially, I tried to ignore them. I filled my time with distractions—work, scrolling, anything to avoid the silence.
Eventually, I had to stop running. I had to sit with the discomfort. And do you know what I found? The monster was not as scary when I looked it in the eye.
By allowing myself to feel deeply—to cry when I needed to, to admit I was scared—I found a new depth of emotional freedom. I learned that my vulnerability is not a weakness; it is the birthplace of my strength. If you found yourself crying more this year, or feeling things more intensely, know that this is a sign of a heart that is alive and processing. You are not falling apart; you are feeling your way through.
Lessons Hidden in the Shadows
It is easy to be grateful when the sun is shining. It is much harder to find gratitude in the dark. Yet, looking back, the most profound lessons of this year came wrapped in sandpaper. They were rough, abrasive, and painful, but they smoothed out my rough edges.
Redefining Success
For a long time, I measured my worth by my output. How much did I do? What did I achieve? This year put a halt to that relentless productivity. When the external markers of success were paused or altered, I had to ask myself: Who am I when I am not "achieving"?
I discovered that I am worthy simply because I exist. My value is not a fluctuating stock market based on my daily to do list. I learned to celebrate small victories—getting out of bed, checking in on a friend, cooking a nourishing meal. These are not small things; they are the fabric of a well lived life.
The Power of Connection
Isolation paradoxically taught us the value of connection. When we could not be in the same room, we found other ways to hold each other. We learned that presence is not just physical. It is an intentional act of turning your heart toward another person.
I recall a phone call with a friend where we did not say much. We just breathed on the line together, acknowledging that things were hard. That shared silence was more healing than a thousand motivational speeches. We learned that we do not always need to fix each other's problems; sometimes, we just need to witness them.
Turning Toward the Light
Now, we look forward. The new year is waiting, not as a daunting challenge to conquer, but as a blank canvas. It is tempting to drag the baggage of this year into the next, to let our fear dictate our future. But we have a choice.
We can choose to bring forward only what serves us. We can pack the lessons, the resilience, and the compassion, and leave behind the bitterness and the fear.
Hope is not blind optimism. It is not ignoring the reality of the world. Hope is a muscle. It is the deliberate choice to believe that good is still possible, even when we cannot see it yet. It is planting a seed in the winter, trusting that spring will come.
Setting Intentions, Not Resolutions
Resolutions often feel like punishments—lists of things we "should" do because we are not good enough. This year, I am abandoning resolutions. Instead, I am setting intentions. An intention is a guiding star. It is a quality of being that you want to cultivate. It is softer, more forgiving, and more aligned with the soul.
Here are a few ways to set meaningful intentions for the coming year:
Choose a Word of the Year: Instead of a list of goals, pick one word that embodies how you want to feel. Is it Rest? Boldness? Grace? Alignment? Let this word be a gentle reminder when you are making decisions.
Prioritize Being over Doing: Make a list of how you want to be. Do you want to be more present with your family? Do you want to be kinder to yourself? Focus on the internal shift, and the external actions will follow naturally.
Schedule Soul Time: We schedule meetings and dentist appointments, but we rarely schedule time for our souls. Block out time in your calendar for things that replenish you—reading, walking in nature, or just sitting in silence.
Practice Radical Gratitude: Start or end your day by writing down three things you are grateful for. Be specific. "I am grateful for the way the light hit the trees this morning." This trains your brain to scan the world for beauty.
A Final Embrace
As we close this chapter, I want to offer you a virtual embrace. You made it. You navigated the storms, you felt the pain, and you are still here. That is a miracle worth celebrating.
Next year holds mysteries we cannot predict. There will likely be more challenges, but there will also be unexpected joys, breathtaking sunsets, and moments of pure connection. You are walking into this new year equipped with a strength you did not have twelve months ago.
Take a deep breath. Release the weight of what was. Open your hands to what will be. Here is to you, to your resilience, and to the beautiful, unfolding journey of your life.
