Revised Resolutions

It’s a funny thing this time of year. How it beckons reflection, summoning you to slow, to pause, to think. 

We spend approximately 362 of our 365 days looking forward, ploughing ahead towards goals once set, relentless in our pursuit of achieving them before the sounds of Auld Lang Syne ring around us. 

But in the last few days of the year gone by, there’s a shift. Albeit subtle, albeit short. In this shift we turn our gaze backward, diverting our focus from what’s to come and instead taking a moment, or two, perhaps three, to simply consider what has passed. 

This year, like every other, has rushed by in a hurry. At times I’ve run with it, competitively challenging it to beat me. How I wish I’d known that beating Time is simply losing it. 

It has also been slow, testing my patience and proving it to be a virtue I’m still yet to obtain. The unhurried-drip of progress has, many a time, frustrated, deflated and berated me. And yet, I wonder how different I’ll feel when hindsight makes a fool out of my restlessness as it so often does.

It has been a year of growth, a year of sitting in the discomfort of said growth and discovering that resilience is never built in the ‘right’ conditions. 

It has been a year of pain, a year of facing fears and learning that even broken hearts keep beating. 

It has been a year of joy, a year of finding the most beautiful treasures in the most unexpected things, people, places. 

I’ve learnt, loved and lost.

I’ve cried a lot, for a lot—sad tears, happy tears, not-sure-why tears. 

I’ve made little changes and big decisions, discovering there is value in both the small and the significant.

I’ve met new people, fostered new friendships, and found the gift of sharing life with those who choose to share theirs too.

I’ve gained so much more than a few words on a page could contain. Thank goodness the heart and mind are more spacious.

As the days on the calendar dissolve into a new page, a new beginning, a new year—instead of setting expectations that, each year, inevitably reveal themselves as unrealistic and extreme, I’m choosing to begin 2024 with a reminder. Not a resolution or a goal, not a plan nor a promise. As the year to come surely passes in the blink of an eye, just as quickly as it arrived, I want only to hold on to the reminder of the lessons this year has brought. 

I want to remember to pause when rest is needed (as it often is), run when the race requires it (both its marathons and its sprints), hold on even when it’s hard (as it will sometimes certainly be), stop overthinking (everything), prioritise the people who matter (and show them that they do), let go of the things that don’t (there’s a lot of those), stay the path when it twists and turns (I have no doubt it will), not feel so afraid when it does (though this might require some grit), live with more vigour (because this life really is too precious to waste), and love with more life (because shouldn’t love deserve our best?). 

Who the heck knows what this next year will hold—I certainly don’t. But whatever it brings with it, I hope that I choose to hold it carefully, remembering that it too shall pass and I don’t want to miss it.