The holidays show up the same way every year—lights in windows, that one Christmas song you can’t escape, the sudden realization your calendar is almost empty. But underneath all of it, there’s this weight. This pull to look back at everything that just happened, whether you’re ready to or not.
My dad doesn’t like this part. The reflection. The way December forces you to see how fast the year went, how quickly it all moved. And then there’s January, waiting with that question nobody really wants to answer: what’s the next year going to look like? When you’re aware of time passing—really aware—the holidays can feel less like celebration and more like reckoning.
The year shows itself in pieces. The things you’re proud of. The things that still sting. The weeks that blurred together because you were just tired. And those random moments when something small made you genuinely happy. It all piles up as December winds down, and you realize you’re not just looking back anymore—you’re looking ahead at however many years are left, wondering what they’ll hold.
I get the urge to just… keep moving. String up the lights, play the music, pretend everything is merry and bright because that’s what you’re supposed to do. But honestly? The holidays aren’t just about celebration. They’re about stopping long enough to actually feel what you’ve been carrying. The passage of time. The awareness that we don’t get unlimited years. The strange grief that comes with watching another one slip away so fast.
Maybe this year broke you open a little. Maybe it asked for more than you had to give. There might have been loss. Disappointment. Changes you didn’t ask for. Days where you were just trying to make it to bedtime. But I’m betting there was also growth you didn’t see coming. Strength you discovered when you had no other choice. Little victories that didn’t feel like much in the moment but actually meant everything.
Here’s the thing: dealing with the past year doesn’t start with forcing yourself to be grateful or pretending the hard stuff wasn’t hard. It starts with just being honest. For my dad, it’s acknowledging that this reflection isn’t easy. That watching years pass quickly isn’t something you can just decorate over. When you let yourself name what hurts—including the fear of how many years are left and what they might bring—it stops taking up so much space. When you say out loud, “This scares me,” you’re not being weak. You’re telling the truth.
You don’t find peace by pretending time isn’t moving. You find it by sitting with that reality, even when it’s uncomfortable. Reflection isn’t about obsessing over every mistake or what-if. Sometimes it’s just asking yourself gentler questions. Like: What did this year show me about what matters? What do I want to do with whatever time is ahead? Not in a panic, but in a way that honors the preciousness of it.
And now everyone’s talking about the new year. New goals, new you, fresh start, all of that. But when you’re thinking about the shortness of years ahead, that pressure feels hollow. Real peace doesn’t come from reinventing yourself or making grand plans. It comes from being present. From deciding what actually matters when you know—really know—that time is limited.
Peace in the new year might look quieter than you expect. It might be choosing rest and not feeling guilty about it. Spending time with people who matter. Letting go of things that don’t. Harmony isn’t about getting everything perfect—it’s about making the most of what’s real, right now.
Time doesn’t wait for us to feel ready. The new year is coming whether we’ve processed this one or not. And that’s the hard part, isn’t it? The relentless forward motion when you wish things would just slow down. But we get to choose what we do with that awareness. We can let it paralyze us, or we can let it clarify what matters.
So as this year closes—for my dad, for anyone who feels this weight—give yourself some grace. You made it through another year, and that counts. The reflection is hard. The awareness of time passing is hard. But maybe that awareness is also a gift, pushing us to live more intentionally with whatever years we have left.
Step into the new year without all that pressure to be more, do more, transform overnight. Just show up. Be present with the people you love. Do the things that matter. Peace isn’t waiting for you on January 1st like a prize—it’s something you practice, one precious, fleeting moment at a time.
