I'm soaking in the last of holiday moments as I prepare to tuck away my Christmas decorations in their boxes, and the house settles into a deep, quiet breath. Outside, the world is quieted by the cold as the hustle and bustle of Christmas has subsided. Inside, I’ve lit a single candle on the buffet, its small flame flickering against the dark brown wooden surface. It feels less like a celebration and more like a quiet companion, a steady light to keep watch as one year gives way to another.
This is always a tender time, isn’t it? These final days are often filled with a strange mix of reflection and anticipation. We look back at the past twelve months, sort of a mosaic of moments both brilliant and broken. There were days that unfolded exactly as we had hoped, full of light and laughter. And there were days, or maybe even entire seasons, that felt heavy and hard, asking more of us than we thought we could give.
This year taught me about the profound beauty of showing up imperfectly. As someone who loves to create beautiful, curated moments, I often feel the pressure for everything to be just right. But 2025 was a masterclass in letting go of that illusion. It was a year of half-finished projects and last-minute plans, of gatherings that were a little messy but filled with so much heart. It reminded me that creativity isn’t about perfection; it’s about the brave and honest act of making something, anything, even when you feel unsure. It’s about the courage to try.
Looking back, it wasn’t the grand achievements that defined the year. It was the small, ordinary pockets of grace. It was the warmth of a coffee cup held in my hands on a slow Tuesday morning. It was the unexpected text from a friend just when I needed it. It was the satisfaction of finally getting a recipe right, and the simple joy of sharing it. These moments don’t make it onto a highlight reel, but they are the sturdy, quiet threads that hold a life together. They are proof that even in uncertainty, there is always something beautiful to be found.
Of course, there were also disappointments, plans that never came to be, hopes that faded, and moments of real struggle. It’s tempting to either gloss over these parts with forced positivity or let their weight pull us down. But what if we did neither? What if we simply acknowledged them with kindness, as part of the human experience? Each challenge taught us something about our own quiet resilience. Each setback was a lesson in endurance, showing us that we are capable of holding both joy and sorrow at the same time.
As we stand on the threshold of a new year, it’s natural to feel a pull toward reinvention. But maybe we don’t need to become entirely new people. Maybe the goal isn’t to erase the person we were this year, but to gently carry forward the lessons learned.
This is the perfect time for a quiet inventory of the heart. What can we let go of? Which burdens have we carried long enough? Maybe it’s a sense of obligation, a fear of not being enough, or the weight of an old regret. We can set them down with gratitude for what they taught us, making space for something lighter to take their place.
Let’s turn toward the new year not with a long list of resolutions, but with a sense of calm possibility. Let’s move forward with the intention to be a little kinder to ourselves, to embrace our own creative spirit, and to notice the small wonders that are always around us. You have already done so much. You have survived, you have grown, and you are still here. That, in itself, is a quiet victory.
So, as this year comes to a close, I wish you rest. I wish you a moment of peace to honor all that you have been and all that you have weathered. The path ahead is unwritten, and you get to walk it with the wisdom you’ve earned. May the new year meet you with gentleness, and may you continue to find the light, both around you and within you.
Until 2026,
Dawn