Somewhere, probably in a drawer or a Notes app or a goal-setting template downloaded in a burst of ambition, there is a list.
Maybe it says:
Write the book.
Make the hire.
Fix the thing.
Run a 10K.
Stop apologizing.
Start stretching.
Maybe it’s more abstract.
Be calmer.
More focused.
Less reactive.
More present.
Less attached to outcomes.
(While still getting the outcome.)
Whatever it says, let’s just agree: it didn’t go exactly like that.
This was the year that didn’t go to plan.
And that’s not a failure.
That’s a life.
The fantasy of the clean arc
We love a good arc.
Beginning, middle, triumphant end.
Setup, struggle, resolution.
The “aha moment,” followed by clarity, followed by sustained transformation and a glowing jawline.
We want to be the version of ourselves who starts strong, navigates the obstacles, and emerges wiser, tanner, and 12% more emotionally intelligent.
But real life doesn’t arc. It meanders.
It doubles back. It circles. It delays.
It delivers plot twists you didn’t storyboard.
Sometimes the answer doesn’t arrive.
Sometimes the person you bet on bails.
Sometimes you worked so hard and still didn’t win.
Sometimes you changed—and the world didn’t respond the way you hoped.
And still: you moved.
You learned. You adjusted. You stayed in the room.
That counts.
Progress doesn’t always feel like progress
Some years, growth feels obvious.
Other years, it feels like a long hallway with bad lighting.
You do the work.
You check in.
You stay curious.
You unclench your jaw.
You try to stop repeating patterns.
And still, you find yourself crying in the car or saying something passive-aggressive about the dishwasher.
You want credit for the effort.
You want someone to say: Hey, I saw that—how you paused instead of reacting. How you tried again. How you kept going when it would’ve been easier not to.
But no one’s grading this.
Which is frustrating and also kind of beautiful.
You’re doing it anyway.
That matters.
The wins you didn’t see coming
Here’s what you might have missed while measuring the year in goals:
You showed up for someone when they didn’t even ask.
You learned to let something go before it broke you.
You got a little better at saying no.
You took one small risk that made you feel more like yourself.
You survived something you didn’t think you could.
You forgave someone who wasn’t sorry.
You stopped following someone who made you feel less than.
You made a soup from scratch.
You stopped checking your phone before bed.
You got through a Tuesday that felt impossible.
These count.
They always did.
The grief of what didn’t happen
Let’s not pretend there weren’t losses.
The job you didn’t get.
The friend who faded.
The idea you loved that never quite took off.
The version of you that still hasn’t arrived.
There’s grief in that. Quiet, often unspoken.
We don’t always know how to mourn what never happened.
The plans we made. The things we were sure would work. The momentum that didn’t last.
But grief isn’t just for endings.
It’s for the almosts. The maybes. The not-yets.
And acknowledging it doesn’t make you weak.
It makes you honest.
No big lesson. Just this: you’re still here.
Maybe you didn’t figure it all out.
Maybe you’re still in the middle of something hard.
Maybe you’re still asking the same questions you were asking this time last year.
And still—you’re here.
With more self-awareness.
A little more tenderness.
A slightly better idea of what drains you and what restores you.
You’re not behind.
You’re just becoming.
And becoming isn’t tidy.
If this year didn’t go to plan, good.
The plan was probably too small anyway.
Or too rigid.
Or written by a past version of you who didn’t yet know what you know now.
This wasn’t a perfect year.
It was a human one.
Messy. Brave. Unresolved.
Still full of grace, if you know where to look.