This is the last blog post of 2025. Only a handful of days and the next calendar will be pulled into use. I’ve been adding notes to mine. Some of my routines don’t need to be written down, but some tasks do. I’m fond of writing lists and making notes of what is on my mind. It frees up thinking space, allowing me to be in the present moment instead of distracted by all that I’m trying to remember or feeling bad about all that I forgot. I use different colored pens to help things stand out. My work schedule, because it changes, is written in pencil.
Though I’ve done some reflection on 2025, and I’ve written my intentions for 2026, these last days of the year are like a pause. I wanted to be free from errands during that pause, so made sure I hit the grocery store, gas station, and feed store so I can observe this space before 2026 makes its official entrance. It’s kind of funny. The sun rises on January 1, and things out the window look the same. I remind myself, like I do on my birthday, that it’s just another day, one that holds significance only because humans have chosen to make it that way.
I’m sticking to my hard deadline for my class materials. I have 6 concepts left. My motivation is waning. I’m grateful my computer and the programs I use are working well, so that alleviates frustration. I decided that just because I can’t figure out how to make something digital doesn’t mean I need to recycle it. It can live in a tub in the garage. Eventually, I’ll get a step further in letting go and what’s being stored will be recycled. But the act of finishing those concepts and setting the tub on the shelf in the garage will be part of the exhale at the end of this pause.
With all my focus on the class materials, writing fiction seems far away. Even the fun ICAD challenge, which ended last month, seems long ago in the past. I know that on January 1 I won’t just start my new habits for the time I plan to do them. A couple of minutes in meditation, a couple of pages written, walking a couple of blocks as I take a break from the computer is how it will start. Before then, I’ll be in the pause.
Like a slow and steady exhale, coming out of the pause in January 1 is both a continuation and a beginning. A continuation because some tasks still need to be done. Many pieces of life straddle January 1. It’s also a beginning. That beginning, for me, takes a few days. Like a ramp up period. Maybe it’s me just making sure that the earth still turns, that I still laugh at the same things, that hope still lives in my heart. At the end of that exhale, there will be another pause before the inhale begins. No set date or time, more an observance of the peace in the pause. May you notice your own pause. See you on the other side.
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