Around this time every year, something familiar begins to stir. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a quiet little whisper that starts in your inbox.
Finish strong.
Make it count.
Don’t waste the last few weeks.
Then it seeps into meetings.
Year-end wrap-ups.
Targets.
Goals.
Slides with words like momentum and final push.
And of course, social media joins in.
There’s still time.
Crush the quarter.
Don’t let the year win.
As if the year is a competition.
As if the only respectable way to reach December is by staggering across some imaginary finish line, breathless but heroic.
And every time, I fall for it.
I open a new notebook.
I start a list.
I convince myself that if I just concentrate hard enough, I can wring one more “accomplishment” out of the calendar.
But this year, I’m trying something I have never once considered:
I’m not sprinting.
I’m not optimizing.
I’m not turning the last five weeks into a personal performance review.
I’m choosing a soft landing.
Some years aren’t meant to crescendo
Not every December needs fireworks.
Some years are quieter.
They build foundations.
They make space.
They teach you things you didn’t realise you were learning.
Those years matter too.
Even if they don’t photograph well.
Even if they don’t fit into a tidy carousel post titled “My Top 10 Lessons.”
You don’t need to justify this year to anyone.
It counted because you lived it.
What I’m letting go of
I’m setting down a few things as the year winds down:
• The belief that I need a master plan before January
• The reflex to earn rest like a badge
• The urge to compare my year to people who make spreadsheets about their emotions
• The list of things I didn’t get to
• The guilt about the list of things I didn’t get to
Not because I’m enlightened.
But because I’m tired.
What a soft landing looks like
It won’t be dramatic.
It won’t be profound.
It certainly won’t be efficient.
A soft landing is small:
Slow mornings.
Walks with no purpose.
Lighting a candle before the sun goes down.
Closing the laptop without fanfare.
Letting silence do some of the work.
Letting the year end like a film whose credits you’re not quite ready to leave.
A soft landing isn’t productive.
It isn’t impressive.
It isn’t a glow-up or a transformation.
It’s just peaceful.
And right now, peaceful feels like its own kind of success.
You don’t need to finish strong
You don’t need to finish dramatically.
You don’t need a glossy ending that proves something.
You can simply decide that this is enough.
That you are enough.
That the year does not require a final performance.
Let it end gently.
Let yourself arrive at the finish line unhurried.
Let December be soft.
Let yourself exhale.
Some years aren’t about pushing harder.
Some years are about learning when to stop.
This might be one of them.