There is something about the end of the year that loosens time and a silence that feels like the world is loosening its grip. It's that suspended feeling that you are not quite in the old year, not yet in the new one. All year long, we spend it rushing, running on adrenaline, and then we finally slow down. Routines soften, expectations are blurred, and the days finally feel less rigid. As the new year looms before us and we are pressured to once again start the chaos all over, there’s also a pull in the opposite direction to pause and reflect inward.
It's often during this liminal period of time that we find ourselves gravitating towards familiar stories. Not out of boredom, but out of comfort, which is no coincidence that Netflix released the second volume of Stranger Things’s new season on Christmas when we are more receptive to seeking comfort and warmth, and a craving to escape into a familiar world. We remember how it made us feel. The friendships, quiet magic of small-town intimacy, the shared sense of danger with the thrill of adventure and most importantly, about holding onto hope. Hoping for the best, even when the world feels uncertain and shaky. It offers us a shared imagination that we don’t have to build from scratch, a place where belonging isn’t earned but given freely. It's a world we can step into and immediately feel held. Like a seasonal hug for the soul, a sweet and gentle reminder that even in the unknown, friendship, and chosen family can carry us through anything and everything.
Before we are able to move forward into the unknown, we often need grounding proof that we are already anchored. Stranger Things, being a familiar story to us, offers that grounding and holds us when real life feels uncertain. This show isn't just about entertaining us. It reassures, it anchors, it lets us breathe, laugh, and feel seen all at once. And maybe that’s why we keep pressing play. We revisit not with plans of escaping but rather to feel grounded enough to face it honestly. And yet, the new year always seems to whisper: you should be someone different, someone better — a pressure we’ll talk about in the next section.
The unfamiliarity and uncertainty that is repeatedly evident as the year comes to a close breeds the need for an overarching plan and, in other words, ‘rebrand’, to regain some semblance of control. Since we are unable to control what the future has in store for us, the next logical solution is to orchestrate exactly what happens to even the most minute details. This takes the form of setting idyllic new year resolutions that may involve completely changing our diets, achieving 10,000 steps a day and other overzealous expectations. The coming of a new year, another orbit around the Sun, sparks this need of complete reinvention and evaluation for ourselves, without pondering the feasibility of such a change. Due to their unrealistic nature, these resolutions typically don’t make it past the second week of the new year, often leaving us feeling drained, hopeless, and quite frankly, disappointed in ourselves.
This disappointment then poses the question: Should we never aspire for change in our lives if it only breeds failure? Well, that’s not right either. The act of wanting and longing for a change in one’s habits, lifestyle and routine with the coming of a new year is completely natural and still beneficial as it brings about a spark of motivation within us. It brings upon the realization that we are able to pull away from the same, monotonous habits we’ve been complying with throughout the previous year. The problem here does not reside with wanting to achieve new goals in the coming year, but to actually set goals that coincide with our daily lives and routines.
For instance, it is impossible to go cold turkey on addictive habits such as snacking on sugary food. Cutting down screen time extensively and aiming to work out every day of a week when our only prior means of exercise has been walking the dog takes time to completely master. Instead of setting out these highly aspirational goals, the trick of success comes with creating goals that are easily achievable and realistic given our time, routines and responsibilities. Achieving smaller goals and milestones may not look inspiring on paper, but they produce stronger and more sustainable results.
An example of this can be lowering the goal of walking 10,000 steps a day to a meagre number of 5,000. Even though a 5,000 step count is less ambitious than that of a higher number, it is feasible, and can easily be implemented into one’s daily routine in the form of going on short walks after meals or taking the stairs instead of the lift. When we are more likely to achieve our goals because of how manageable they become, it not only satisfies us, but also inspires us to carry on with the act until it becomes built-in as a new habit. Not only that, but constantly being able to achieve the same goal will motivate us to take it a step further, now raising the step count to higher numbers to reach new milestones. Eventually, that 10,000 step goal will be successfully reached within a few months of working on the habit, and we will not have had to face the disappointment we might have felt when initially failing to achieve such an ambitious goal.
Yet, January arrives every year with a quiet confidence that feels almost suspicious. It doesn’t shout, but it expects. It sits across from us, hands folded, and asks what we plan to do with ourselves now. January has a way of making everything feel significant, as if the smallest misstep might ripple through the rest of the year. Suddenly, every habit feels symbolic. Every decision feels like a forecast. There is a subtle sadness to this. January carries the weight of expectation before we have even caught our breath. The decorations are down, the comfort has faded, and the days stretch ahead — long, pale, and undecided. We tell ourselves this is where we must begin again, even though many of us are still standing in the emotional aftermath of the year before.
Perhaps that’s why January feels less like a fresh start and more like an interrogation. It asks us who we are becoming, while we are still figuring out who we were. It urges us forward while we are still looking back. And in that tension, we falter. Not because we lack discipline or ambition, but because becoming takes time. Maybe the gentlest way to move through January is not to treat it as a turning point, but as a threshold. A place to pause, not perform. To listen, not overhaul. Growth does not need to be loud or immediate to be real. Sometimes it begins as quiet endurance — showing up, adjusting slowly, choosing what is manageable over what is impressive.
The year does not hinge on how we start it. It unfolds in the accumulation of ordinary days. And if January insists on watching closely, perhaps all it needs to see is that we are still here, still trying, and still allowing ourselves the grace to grow at our own pace.








%20River%20Purification.png)










