Don’t Rush into the New Year.

The way we talk about the upcoming year has always fascinated me.

Every December, I hear the same refrains:
“This year was a bust, hopefully next year will be better.”
“I really thought this was going to be my year… maybe next year.”

We watch the ball drop, armed with New Year’s intentions, and charge into January full of resolve, only to abandon it all by the 15th.

What if the problem isn’t discipline?

What if the problem is the way we’re taught to look at our lives?

I believe that in every single moment, beauty and darkness exist side by side.

As I write this, I’m looking out my window at a pristine winter scene, untouched snow stretching through the woods. It’s breathtaking.
And my sister is still dead.
(Also, I have an annoying cough.)

Both are true.

The choice I get to make is this: which truth gets more airtime in my mind?

When I focus on my sister’s death (or my cough) I’m choosing to dwell in the darkness. And where attention goes, energy flows. The more I focus there, the heavier everything feels.

But when I allow myself to really take in the winter scene, something shifts. I can see myself playing in the snow, making snow angels, snowshoeing. Even from the warmth of being inside, I feel myself smiling. I’m giggling with anticipation.

By the time you read this, I’m probably knee-deep in winter fun.

This is how I approach the New Year.

I begin by honestly looking back at the year that’s closing, not to judge it, but to understand it. I want to see where I’ve been clearly. Then I make a deliberate 180-degree mental pivot and turn my attention toward where I want to go, and who I want to become, in the year ahead.

I don’t start the year looking backward. I start it looking forward.

I bring the future into the present moment and let it guide my choices. If I want to become that future version of myself, what decision do I need to make right now?

If you drive your car while staring only into the rearview mirror, you’re eventually going to crash. You can’t move forward while fixated on where you’ve been. You need to know your destination, and then focus on what’s ten feet in front of the hood: the next small step.

Here’s what I do every year. What began as an informal reflection has become a meaningful ritual.

First, I reflect on my victories and celebrations from the year that’s ending. I always start here, because, gratitude shifts everything. I look for the light first. Even in the hardest years, there are wins. Sometimes they’re small, like getting out of bed on most days. Sometimes they’re big, like landing a dream job. If you’re someone who tends to be hard on yourself (like I am), finding these moments may take effort. Keep looking. They’re there.

Next, I name the challenges of the past twelve months. They matter too. I don’t exaggerate them, and I don’t minimize them. I look at them honestly, exactly as they are. That honesty is what makes real change possible.

Finally, I decide what goals I want to pursue, and more importantly, who I need to become in order to reach them.

For example: if my goal is to lose ten pounds, I need to become someone who nourishes their body and moves it with intention. If I eat a box of Oreos, I’m not being that person. No shame. Just clarity. And full responsibility.

So before the calendar turns, take some time to reflect.

Celebrate your wins.
Acknowledge your challenges.
Clarify your goals.

Then ask yourself the most important question of all:

Who do you need to become in the coming year?

Go with power,
Jason

Try this Simple Practice:

Year-End Practice

1. Look Back with Honesty
Take a few quiet minutes to reflect on the year you’ve lived.
Name what you’re proud of. Name what was hard. Let both belong.
This isn’t about judging—it’s about witnessing.

2. Integrate the Lessons
Ask yourself: What did this year teach me about who I am?
Notice the strengths you used, the limits you met, and the ways you grew—even through challenge or loss.

3. Choose Who You Will Be
Before setting goals or intentions, decide who you want to be in the coming year.
Not what you’ll accomplish—but how you want to show up, relate, and live.

Let that choice guide what comes next.