Like most years, beginning about mid December, I started to hear it again from various people: “I’m so happy 2025 is about to end.” “This has been the worst year yet, thank goodness a new one is coming. I want to start fresh.” Most typically: “I can’t wait for this year to be over.”
These are declarations from people who have been grappling with health issues, or those of a loved one. Maybe they lost a job, have had ongoing conflicts with family or friends or had a lot of unexpected, draining expenses. I know if I believed in it, I’d definitely have declared good riddance to 2025 with the expectation of nothing but better times in 2026.
But I don’t. And I’m an optimist.
There was a time I may have thought that starting a new year would put an end to a string of bad luck or lousy things happening. I used to think problems had a distinct beginning, middle and end followed by clear sailing ahead. But now I know that when it comes to difficulties and challenges in life, there will always be another where that one came from. And another. Sometimes they blend together.
There’s no magic wand that gets waved at midnight on Dec. 31, dropping showers of fairy dust that make all the bad stuff go away. Maybe it’s part of getting older, but realizing that has made me come to savor the stretches of peace when they happen — to really appreciate the good times and happy events.
So yeah, I didn’t mind telling 2025 not to let the door hit it on the way out. But I have no expectation that 2026 will be any different. Just hope.
Because things happen — and keep happening. Up, down and all around, transcending the calendar. I’ve been trying to get better at teaching myself to live in the moment — to not wish life away or waste it worrying about things that may never happen. I’ve already spent quite a bit of time doing that.
Meanwhile, as I write this, my sister’s in the hospital with a worrisome set of health problems. Other immediate family members have challenges with no clear or easy resolution. A dear friend of mine has an adult son who is fighting for his life. For the second time this year, a (41-year-old) “kid” my son went to school with has lost a mother, leaving those children I watched grow up bereft. None of these are going to magically resolve themselves overnight.
At the same time, I have healthy children and grandchildren. I get to live in a house that has lights, heat and food in the fridge, with good neighbors nearby. I have my health, which used to sound trite, but the older I get, realize truly does mean everything.
And even as there’s so much to be thankful for and optimistic about, I know that the rest of it will keep coming, too — blind to the calendar, year in and year out.
Life.