What I Seek in the Year Ahead

It seems a bit silly to announce the new year. Who doesn’t know that we toss the 2025 calendar into yesterday’s trash and flip open the 2026 datebook to begin another 365 days of not knowing.

Still, there it is. Blank. Crisp. Slightly judgmental.

What do we expect to fill those pages and little boxes? Births, deaths, weddings, birthdays, celebrations, dull days, sad days, joyful ones, and a generous supply of 24 hours that will never earn a memory. Entire days that vanish quietly, like socks in the dryer.

As an optimist, I anticipate a year of new adventures, some expected, some surprising, some planned, and most satisfying. Yes, the pace may be a bit slower, but anticipation remains intense. I have learned that excitement does not require speed. It only needs curiosity and decent shoes.

My life has changed, and I am glad for it, though occasionally startled. I am letting go of things I once clung to. Perhaps it is the fine china from my first wedding, now boxed between layers of carefully folded cardboard, still pristine, still waiting for guests who apparently never arrived. Or maybe it is the high school beat tags covered in classmates’ signatures. I loved them once. I really did. Perhaps the school library will love them next.

What once felt vital, or at least worth saving, now feels like clutter. And yet, the guilt lingers. We are raised to believe that discarding objects is somehow disloyal, as if the memory itself might take offense.

I remember going through my grandmother’s dresser drawers after she died and finding boxes barely opened, filled with lacy bed robes my mother had given her for birthdays and Christmases. Grandmother spent her final twenty years in a nursing home. When she passed at 103, those robes were still unworn. Lovely. Thoughtful. Completely unnecessary.

That moment stayed with me. Maybe it is an age thing. Perspective shifts. Our vision sharpens, not toward what once brought pleasure, but toward what brings it now. For me, that is found in relationships. The people I sit with, talk with, share stories with, laugh and cry with. The people I will miss when they reach their own sunset, leaving behind that rare and necessary feeling of belonging, companionship, and being heard.

As I step into this new year, I realize it has always been the people who brought me peace, love, joy, and solace. The things were never the point. They were just props.

The people, though. They are what I remember. What I need. What I will keep seeking in the year ahead.

Happy New Year. And happy newfound friends. FC Record / 2 c ... 3.53'