The End of the Year

I don’t like New Year’s resolutions.

I think they’re rarely done well. They don’t really motivate — instead they often create guilt and shame, built on the quiet assumption that something about who we are isn’t good enough yet.

What I do love is closure.

And the end of the year offers a rare, gentle opportunity for exactly that.

Not to add more.
Not to become someone new.
But to finish things.

Over the last few days, that’s what I’ve been doing.

Yesterday, I changed an inner tube in my bike.
Today, I’m darning clothes and sewing on missing buttons.
I took unwanted gifts back to shops.
One bag went to charity.
Another to fabric recycling.

I sorted through the children’s clothes and took out what’s already too small.
I’m fighting stains on school uniforms — not because everything must be perfect, but because some things are still worth tending to.

None of this is dramatic.
There are no big declarations.
Just small acts of closing loops.

Fix what can be fixed.
Let go of what doesn’t serve you anymore.
Return what doesn’t belong to you.
Finish what’s been quietly waiting.

There is something deeply settling about ending a year with fewer loose ends.

Clutter — physical or emotional — often isn’t about excess.
It’s about unfinished business.

And maybe that’s why resolutions feel so heavy.
They ask us to become someone new, while we’re still carrying so much of what’s unresolved.

Sometimes the work isn’t to add.
It’s to reduce.

To make decisions.
To let go of things that belong to an older version of us.
Not to reinvent who we are — but to reveal it.