If This Year Were a Person

If this year were a person, I think it would arrive without a knocking.

To knock or not to?

Not because it was rude, but because it didn’t see the point in asking permission. It would take the nearest seat, look around like it belonged there, and start talking about things that didn’t sound important at first.

Later, you’d realize they were.

This year wouldn’t be loud. It wouldn’t introduce itself as life-changing or unforgettable. It would say it was ordinary. Temporary. Just another year passing through. But it would stay long enough to move a few things around when you weren’t paying attention. At first, you might not trust it.

Surprise?

It would cancel plans. Lose track of time. Promise clarity and offer confusion instead. It would leave thoughts unfinished, as if it expected you to meet it halfway. That would be frustrating. Anyone would feel that way.

Still, it would surprise you.

It would show up during small moments. The kind you don’t photograph or announce. Quiet mornings. Half-heard conversations. The spaces between decisions. The moments you only recognize later as turning points.

This year would teach without raising its voice.

Not through dramatic events, but through repetition. The same lesson appearing in different situations. The same question returning until you were ready to answer it. Days that felt uneventful, yet somehow left you changed.

If this year were a person, it would be inconsistent.

Some days generous. Some days distant. Occasionally in some ways that felt unintentional. It would give you space when you wanted reassurance and reassurance when you thought you needed space. Its timing would rarely match your expectations. But timing, as it turns out, was part of the point.

Life's timing!

This year would pay attention.

It would notice the habits you kept out of comfort rather than joy. The versions of yourself you returned to because they were familiar, not because they still fit. It wouldn’t confront you about them. It would simply wait and let you notice on your own.

And eventually, you would.

It would place moments in your path that seemed small at the time. A conversation that stayed with you. A pause you didn’t ask for. A decision you didn’t celebrate but never wished you’d undone.

If this year were a person, it would challenge your idea of progress.

It wouldn’t reward effort immediately. It wouldn’t follow the neat timeline you had planned. Instead, it would ask you to sit with uncertainty longer than you wanted to. To trust slow movement. To believe that standing still isn’t the same as falling behind.

You would argue with it about that.

You would ask for clarity, direction, answers. It would respond with experience instead. You would want conclusions. It would leave room for interpretation.

Annoying, yes. Effective, unfortunately, also yes.

This year would be good at showing you yourself.

Not the polished version. The honest one. The one that shows up when no one is watching and no one is applauding. It would reflect back the patience you didn’t know you had, the boundaries you learned to keep, the resilience you stopped needing to explain.

It would also show you what you outgrew.

Why think outside the box when you can sit awkwardly inside it?

Some dreams didn’t disappear. They simply changed shape. Some expectations lost their urgency. Some things you thought you needed turned out to be quieter than you imagined.

If this year were a person, it wouldn’t ask for gratitude.

It wouldn’t demand a lesson or a tidy conclusion. It would understand that not everything wraps up neatly by the end of the year. Some stories pause. Some growth only makes sense later.

When it’s time to leave, it wouldn’t make a speech.

It would straighten the room, leave a few thoughts behind, and trust that you took more from the time together than you realize.

And when it’s gone, you might not miss it right away.

But one day, something will make sense that didn’t before. You’ll recognize a choice you now make more easily, a reaction you no longer have, a calm you didn’t always carry.

And you’ll know it came from this year.

Easy, our cherished family member, walks through the serene jungle, lost in reflection over the past year.