How We Carry a Year

Listening In, Letting Go, and Turning Toward What’s Next

I first shared this reflection a couple of years ago, in a different season of the world and of my own life. I’m offering it again now because the questions feel more—not less—necessary. They ask nothing of certainty or resolution, only attention. I hope they meet you exactly where you are.

More than a decade ago, I began a quiet tradition of year-end reflection—an anchoring ritual that has brought clarity, perspective, and a sense of renewal. Over time, I’ve gathered a small constellation of questions to illuminate the year behind us and gently open the heart to what lies ahead.

The past year has been marked by heartbreak. For many, the losses cut deep—safety stripped away, dignity eroded, rights once thought secure undone, lives interrupted or ended.

What this leaves behind is not just grief or fear, pain or uncertainty, but saturation. Crises are unfolding at once, compounding one another, arriving faster than we can take them in. Many of us are carrying more than we can hold.

In such a season, stillness us hard to come by. This is not an invitation to do more, but to make a little space—to attend to what has been carried, to listen inward, and to leave a small opening for what might still grow.

We often imagine reflection as backward-looking, but its truest function is forward-facing: loosening the grip of habit, reminding us that attention is a choice, and that the future is shaped less by grand intentions than by the quiet things we practice noticing.

In moments of upheaval and division, practices like this can offer a steadying presence—a place to pause and remember what matters most. Seasonal thresholds invite us to draw meaning from experience, closing one chapter while opening ourselves to the next.

If you choose to join, make this practice your own. Answer only the questions that resonate, in one sitting or over time.

Each year, I complete this reflection around the New Year and then set it aside. Again and again, I’m struck by how much wisdom emerges—often resurfacing later, just when I need it most.

Tiger Leaping Gorge, 虎跳峡, Yunnan, China, 18 August 2023

The Past: What Shaped Me

• How did I spend the past year? What stands out most vividly in my memory?
• Which experiences felt nourishing, and which felt depleting or misaligned?
• Which moments carried meaning—whether joyful, painful, ambiguous, or unfinished? (If it helps, you might look back through your calendar or photo roll, noticing moments you’d otherwise pass over: small gems, quiet shifts, or overlooked turning points.)
• What people, places, or practices served as sources of inspiration?
• What am I most grateful for? What accomplishments or shifts am I most proud of?
• What challenges or disappointments did I encounter, and how did I meet them?
• How did moments of achievement, joy, or passion shape me?
• What journeys—literal or symbolic—shaped how I expressed myself or came to know myself more fully?
• What did I open myself to or learn to embrace?
• What did I let go of, release, or surrender?
• In what ways did I change, grow, or deepen over the course of the year?

The Present: What I’m Carrying / What I’m Releasing

• How can I carry forward the lessons of the past year into my life now?
• What habits, possessions, or mindsets have outlived their purpose—and what am I ready to release, grieve, celebrate, or simply lay down?
• What am I yearning for now, and what inner or outer resources can I rely on as I move forward?
• In what ways am I evolving right now, and how can I nurture this transformation with compassion, gentleness, and care?

The Future: What Is Stirring

• What broad experiences or qualities do I hope to invite into the coming year—perhaps rest or renewal, curiosity or adventure, connection or solitude, creativity or care? What deeper inspirations or longings sit beneath these desires?
• Where do I feel called to go, either literally or metaphorically? What possibilities or quiet curiosities are beginning to stir?
• What parts of myself am I curious to nurture, reclaim, or express more fully now?
• Looking far ahead, what dreams or creative endeavors do I feel drawn to being part of?
• If I could speak from the wisest and clearest part of myself, what would I say about the life I’m envisioning?

Messages from the Future

Imagine yourself one year from now. Write a postcard, letter, or short message to your present self.

What loving reminders, insights, encouragements, or cautions would you send back through time? Let it be a note of compassion and clarity—something to keep you company as you move into what you cannot yet see.

Japanese Daruma Doll Practice: What is the direction of your heart?

I first encountered the Daruma doll while preparing to welcome the New Year at Tokyo’s Senso-ji Temple. It is a simple object, often used to mark intention, endurance, and renewal.

Traditionally, a Daruma is purchased with blank eyes. When an intention is set, one eye is filled in, leaving the other open—a quiet reminder that the work is still underway. Traditionally, the second eye is filled in when an intention is fulfilled.

Weighted at the bottom, the doll is designed to tip over and right itself again, echoing the proverb nana korobi ya oki—fall down seven times, stand up eight. The teaching is not optimism, but persistence: setbacks are expected; returning is the practice.

At the end of the year, Daruma dolls are often returned and released into fire, regardless of outcome. The ritual ultimately honors effort itself rather than results, attention rather than achievement.

If it resonates, you might choose a symbol of your own this year—something small and visible—to hold an intention lightly. Not as a measure of success, but as a companion to the effort itself.

Wishing you a year held by love, steadied by truth, and oriented toward what matters most.

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And as always, a question:
What feels most worth tending now?
What do you want to care for this year?