The end of the year is here, and I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to feel about it.

Apparently, the correct response is enthusiasm. The NYC ball drops, we cheer like we personally accomplished something, blow whistles, kiss strangers, and scream numbers as if time itself is taking notes. Ten! Nine! Eight! Confetti explodes. A new year arrives. Voilà! Renewal!

But is anyone ever fully ready to high-five the fact that another year has passed? Really?

Because with every year that ends, there’s an unspoken inventory. What did I actually do? What did I not do? What carried over? What quietly fell away? A year ending isn’t just celebratory. It’s confrontational.

Someone recently told me I seem optimistic about the coming year. And I am. Not in a glittery, “everything will be amazing” way. I’m far too realistic for that. I know the year ahead will have challenges. There will be moments of sadness. There will be days where I’m a first-time empty nester, wandering around wondering how time moved so quickly while I was busy doing everything else.

But the optimism doesn’t come from believing the road will be smooth.

It comes from the fact that I already ran the course.

This past year had hurdles. Really had hurdles. The kind that steal sleep, rack your nerves, and turn New York nights into long, over-caffeinated internal monologues. Some parts of the year didn’t just challenge me; they outright sucked. And yet here I am. I cleared the hurdles. Not always gracefully. Sometimes I clipped them. Sometimes I limped a little afterward. But I cleared them.

There’s a particular confidence that comes from survival. Not bravado. But earned confidence. The quiet knowledge that you can handle what comes because you already handled what came.

Time doesn’t stand still. That’s the part that stings. It’s also the part that saves us. Because as much as time takes, it also carries us forward. It insists we keep going. It refuses to let us stay frozen in fear, grief, or nostalgia.

So as this year winds down, I’m not cheering wildly. I’m standing here aware, tired, proud, and still willing. I’m facing the next year knowing it will bring both joy and discomfort, laughter and loss, certainty and surprise.

And, I’m okay with that.

Because I’ve learned something important this year. I don’t need to know exactly how it will go. I just need to trust that I’ll keep moving.

And honestly? That’s enough to step into the new year with hope.