A reflection from the new year
I came here to write an end-of-year post, and the page wouldn’t open.
At first, it felt like a simple technical issue — something an IT person would eventually resolve. But as I sat with it, I recognised the moment for what it was.
A pause.
A threshold.
An invitation to stand still rather than push forward.
Looking back, this is how the past year moved for me. Not through loud conclusions or dramatic resets — not because they weren’t present, but because I no longer met them from collapse — but through quiet recognitions; moments where something completed without needing to break me open.
This is not a looking-back post
I’m not here to summarise what has been or list what was achieved. That kind of accounting no longer reflects how change actually happens.
What I can see clearly now is this: the year that has just completed was less about adding and more about withdrawing — a conscious re-allocation of energy rather than a stepping back.
Responsibility returned to its rightful place.
In doing so, I found myself orienting toward love — not as obligation, but as truth.
Identities formed through endurance softened and fell away.
The quiet habit of bracing for what might go wrong lost its hold.
This was not a collapse into distance, but a standing still in truth.
Not a shutting down of love, but a refusal to carry what was never mine to hold.
Some things did not need healing.
They needed permission to complete.
And in allowing that completion, I didn’t lose ground.
I gained space.
Standing between what was and what is not yet
There is a moment — often overlooked — that sits between endings and beginnings.
It is neither the past nor the future.
It is the place where the body knows before the mind does.
Where clarity has not yet arrived, but truth already has.
Where nothing is being demanded, and yet everything is possible.
This is where I find myself now — at the beginning of a new year.
Not at a finish line.
Not at the start of something clearly defined.
But at a horizon.
A horizon doesn’t ask us to decide everything.
It simply asks us to orient ourselves.
Letting the future approach differently
One of the quieter learnings I carry forward is this: when we stop dragging old stories with us, the future begins to behave differently around us.
Opportunities don’t need to be chased.
Creativity doesn’t need to be forced.
Wealth — in all its forms — doesn’t need to be defended, justified, or proven.
What changes is not the external landscape, but the way we stand within it.
From here, the next step doesn’t need to be named yet.
It only needs to be allowed.
An invitation, not a resolution
As this new year opens, I am not making resolutions.
I am making room.
Room for what wants to meet me when I am no longer carrying what was never mine to hold.
Room for choices that arise from alignment rather than urgency.
Room for a future that recognises me because I am finally standing where I belong.
If you’re reading this and sensing something similar — a quiet completion, a solid pause, a knowing that something has ended even if nothing dramatic has occurred — let this be enough for now:
You don’t need to rush into the next chapter.
You don’t need to explain yourself yet.
You don’t need to know.
Sometimes standing here is the act of choosing.
And the horizon, when met without strain, has a way of opening on its own.
