Closing the Year: A Quiet Reckoning

 Closing the Year: A Quiet Reckoning

As this year comes to a close, I find myself less interested in tidy summaries and more drawn to honesty.

This was not a year of easy answers.
It was a year of noticing—what feels broken, what feels fragile, and what still quietly works despite everything.

I thought often about balance. About how life once moved at a human pace—when food came from gardens, when vendors walked the streets, when people relied more on one another than on systems that now feel cold and transactional. Progress has brought convenience, yes—but it has also brought distance, burnout, and a constant sense of urgency that doesn’t sit well with the soul.

This year reminded me how much we’ve lost touch with slowness, with dignity, with simple connection. It also reminded me how resilient people are—especially those living on the margins, navigating housing insecurity, rising costs, censorship, and systems that rarely listen.

I continue to write because silence feels more dangerous than speaking.
I continue to observe because stories matter—especially the ones that don’t fit neatly into headlines or algorithms.

There were moments of exhaustion this year. Moments of grief. Moments where retreat felt safer than engagement. And yet, there were also moments of beauty: shared meals, remembered places, small kindnesses, and the steady pull of creativity that refuses to disappear.

As the year closes, I’m not making grand resolutions.
I’m carrying forward intentions instead:

• to stay curious
• to stay grounded
• to tell the truth as I see it
• and to remember that change often begins quietly, long before it becomes visible

Thank you to those who read, reflect, question, and return.
Thank you for holding space for nuance in a world that prefers noise.

Here’s to a gentler turning of the page.
May the coming year bring more balance, more humanity, and more room to breathe.

— Tina