Back in my chronically online days, I used to hate the coming of a New Year. It felt like everyone had a perfectly curated post about all the challenges they faced and successfully conquered; all the big, beautiful things that bloomed in their lives. Post after post, there was new life, new energy, and new love all around. 

Except, not for me. 

I wasn’t jealous. I learned from a young age that envy gets you nowhere but closer to misery. Moreover, despite appearances, you can never truly know the ins and outs of another’s life. So, no, I wasn’t jealous, but I was sad. It felt as though everyone around me was floating while I was sinking. Why couldn’t I just make my way to the surface? What was wrong with me?

I can’t remember the last time a New Year brought happiness into my life. When I think about the last eight or so New Years I’ve had, they’ve all been marked by some combination of loss, fear, sadness, and depression. Despite what feels like my biggest efforts–and Lord knows I have tried–no amount of meditation or therapeutic techniques prevents me from falling into that pit.

I wanted this new year to be different, but I knew that expecting a 180 was unrealistic. If I was going to fall, fall I would. But I wanted to create a soft place for myself to land. I realized that I didn’t have to shatter and spend months trying to piece myself back together again. 

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My birthday is the time of year that I tend to become reflective. I think about all that’s happened, all that I wish for, and what a path forward might look like. By the time the New Year comes around, I’ve been thinking about life and all its contours for some months. This year was no different. 

2024 was, by and large, a horrible year. My mental health was the worst it’s been in a long, long time. My physical health was just as precarious. I was deeply unhappy, frustrated with all the personal and professional changes that had come into my life. I felt very lonely and was very alone. I slipped into self-isolation which did nothing but worsen my emotional, spiritual, and physical state. Then, there’s the bonus of the many relationship fractures that come along with cutting yourself off from the world. 2024 was not at all my year, and it was a year I had no desire to relive. 

Moving from 30 into 31, I knew these things: I knew that I wanted to push myself to reach out to those from whom I hid; I knew that I didn’t want shame and despair to be my constant companions; I knew that I wanted to stop listening to the self-defeatist voice in my head; I knew that I wanted to come back into community, to be present, to be committed, to love and be loved; I knew that I was never going to fit into any archetypal mold, and I wanted to embrace that. All of this had been percolating in my mind by the time the New Year came around, and I made small but meaningful strides towards these “resolutions,” even as I experienced some setbacks. 

As the New Year dawned, life threw some unexpected curveballs. On New Year’s Eve, I learned that a dear, dear loved one had suddenly and unexpectedly died of a heart attack. On New Year’s Day, I learned that my godmother had been diagnosed with Stage IV cervical cancer. A few days later, wildfires began to blaze through Los Angeles County. The city became shrouded in thick, dense smoke. Ash fell from the sky. I don’t say this to be hyperbolic or dramatic, but there was no way to describe the first full day of fires as anything other than apocalyptic. You couldn’t (and, still can’t) breathe outside. It’s suffocating. I wore a KN 95 mask, but quickly realized I also needed goggles to protect my eyes from the ash. 

So, now, here we are. New Year, new personal and collective woes. I am trying to remain in the present and prevent myself from spiraling. There is, unfortunately, much over which one could easily obsess. There’s the aftermath of the fires; disaster capitalist “solutions” to this human-made climate crisis; the unlikelihood that the wealthy who have lost their residences to the fires will emerge with a radical critique of capitalism and its role in shaping disasters and our responses to them; the sad but certain prospect of insurance companies responding with austerity; the likelihood that low-lying, less fire-prone Black and Latine neighborhoods, already transformed by gentrification, will once again see property valuations rise and longtime residents pushed out; and, as always, there’s business interests and politicians’ consistent lack of care and respect for human and non-human life. The list goes on and on. And all of this is happening in a the midst of global political rightward turn. This is what was on my mind this New Year. 

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Gone are my years of being chronically online. I still have most (?) of my social media accounts, but I rarely log into them. I do miss it though. While I don’t miss the endless scrolling, I do miss connecting with others and hate being out of touch. I have committed myself to repairing relationships, being more physically present, and writing in this space regularly. I’ve been thinking about a New Year’s post since the end of 2024. However, some of the things I shared here delayed me from sitting and actually putting my thoughts to the page. 

So, wherever you are in this world, whatever challenges you are facing, I hope you know that you are not struggling alone. The personal and collective challenges we face are complex and numerous. So much about this life makes us think that individual solutions are the answer. Take it from an expert in self-isolation — they are not.

I no longer hope for eternal brightness, everlasting happiness, and endless ease at the start of a New Year. I know that that is not the reality of this life / our world. But I do believe that we can still find great joy. Joy isn’t everlasting, but it shapes us. It transforms us. In the words of bell hooks, it may help us imagine alternative possible futures and ways of being that our current context deem impossible. 

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So here is my New Year’s wish, for myself and for all of you: May this year shower us in love, the love of those still here with us and the love of those long gone. May we lead with kindness and grace. May we find moments of rest and peace where we can. May we bask in the joyful moments and rely on reservoirs of strength to hold us through difficult times. And, above all, may we always remember that the dawn of a new day allows us an opportunity to try again. 

Happy New Year 🌱