What is it about the year-end that makes us face our fears and disappointments and count our hopes again like pieces of treasure in our palm? The seasons herald change as they fold into one another, but the calendar shows us we don’t cycle in place. We wheel forward — birthdays, anniversaries, “three years since” — all touchstones across memory and longing, markers of time that leave no one unaffected. The Eve is a live wire between the past and future and with the turn of the year, we cross a mental threshold.
For some of us it’s simple math, only so many grains of sand left in the hourglass. We attempt to balance the equation, weigh our dreams against the run of time. But it’s more than a race with the clock. No matter our age or station or story, the height of the new year holds out a second chance. We hope for better, of our life and of our self, because to be human means to grow. Character, strength, achievement leave us room for more, and we seize fresh opportunity. So we turn our feet toward our dreams, reset our compass to the hope of the winter sun.
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