The last morning — a new year's eve reflection

The last morning of the year. Today many people start the day slowly. Tomorrow perhaps with a hangover. Today big plans are being forged: 'From next year on, everything will be different!' But often these resolutions get lost in the haze of new year's eve. I'm sitting at my desk, the coffee is still hot, outside it's cold and quiet, and I notice how much I like this moment.

The magic of the second-to-last hours

The 31st of December has a mood of its own. The year is effectively over, and at the same time not yet. Things that still happen don't fully count any more. Things that are supposed to happen wait one more day. That is a rare gap in the calendar, and I think that's exactly why so many people feel a kind of soft clarity today that is missing on other days.

I used to try to structure the year on new year's eve. Highlights, low points, lessons learned. There is value in that, but over the years its usefulness has shrunk for me. The most important things in a year can rarely be described in bullet points. They mostly stand between the lines and only show themselves two years later, when a decision becomes visible in retrospect that you barely noticed at the time.

Why resolutions so often fail

It has almost become a ritual to write about how many people give up their new year's resolutions by February. The numbers are well known, and they barely change. I think the problem isn't people's discipline. It is the form in which resolutions are framed.

A resolution born around midnight, between wine and fireworks, mostly doesn't carry. Not because the wine is bad, but because the mood is different from the one in which you actually have to keep the resolution. On 3 January at 7 a.m., in the dark, in front of the treadmill, the mood isn't the same as when you raised your glass. And that is exactly where the resolution stands or falls.

I've learned, for myself, that good resolutions are born on a normal Tuesday, in the middle of everyday life, with a clear head. They are smaller, less pathos-laden, but they last better. The turn of the year is a pretty frame, but it is not a magical tool. Change isn't waiting for 1 January. It's waiting for the moment when someone actually does it.

What I actually do on this day

I'm writing this text in a pause between the days. We won't be celebrating big tonight, the year was too dense for that. We'll eat something nice, have a few quiet conversations, perhaps step out briefly to see the fireworks in the distance. That is all I need.

Ten years ago I would have thought this sentence was boring. Today I think of it as the heart of a good life. Not because I have grown old, but because I have understood, in other places, what costs energy and what gives energy. New year's eve, for me, no longer falls into the category 'day that gives energy'. It falls into 'day that quietens'.

A small observation instead of a lesson

I've had one thought more and more often over the past year: life doesn't change in the big moments. It changes in the small, often unspectacular decisions we make in between. In the phone call I managed to make briefly before the day pushed on. In the no I gave to a project that was too big for my current phase of life. In the half-hour in which I was simply there, with my child, without a plan.

New year's eve tends to cover up this truth. The fireworks are loud, the sentences are big, the hugs are firm. But the actual work, if you like, doesn't happen on this night. It happens on the other 364 nights of the year, when nobody is watching and nothing bangs.

And still, I like this day

You shouldn't talk new year's eve down. It is a valuable day, and I think it is lovely that millions of people pause at the same time, look back, look forward, raise a glass. That is a piece of shared culture I wouldn't want to do without. But I want to call out to myself — and perhaps to you, if you are reading this — not to overload this day.

What you want to change in 2025 is allowed to be an idea today. Tomorrow it is allowed to be a decision. In two weeks it counts. And on 31 December 2025 you'll look back and see whether you actually did a few small things. That is exactly what counts.

For today, the last morning is enough for me, the coffee, the quiet view out of the window. Everything else comes when it comes. Have a good last day of the year.