As the clock ticks down to the inevitable stroke of midnight, and everyone cheers when the ball drops, a sense of fear and anticipation lingers through the celebration. The calendar pages will turn, and I will find myself standing on the edge of a new decade, a new adventure, and very real new fears. In 2024, I am turning 20 years old. I will no longer be a teenager and instead, be forced to step into the metaphorical adult world — officially this time (18 doesn’t quite have the same effect). The safety net of adolescence is unraveling, and I’m thrown back into my high school years of uncertainty and unwanted transitions.
New Year’s Eve generally brings around some negative emotions for me, even just remembering to write a new date on the upper corner of a test paper is difficult. I was expecting this transition to adulthood to be equally as difficult as the ones before it, yet strangely, that isn’t the case. Exam season is not usually the time of personal reflection, but as New Year’s approaches, I find myself thinking about my past rather than my future. How is it that during one of the scariest transitions of my life, I felt worse when I was 15, living with my parents and having dinner on the table when I came home from school? Putting teenage hormones aside, it has been an interesting journey of learning to accept change, and I didn’t even realize I was on it.
My parents loved the idea of “New Year, New Me.” The holiday season was always a chance to ‘redeem’ themselves: Christmas Cheer boxes, donating to Santa at the grocery store, wanting to spend more quality family time etc. As a kid, this phrase seemed to carry a weight far beyond its literal meaning. When the New Year arrived, it wasn’t just a change of the calendar, it was an unspoken command for personal reinvention. I would sit wide-eyed, watching adults around me declare resolutions with unwavering determination, and a little bit of self-loathing. Whether it was shedding a few pounds, becoming more disciplined, or new career opportunities, everyone had something they wanted to change about themselves. This left me with new insecurities and a tinge of unease, a sense that the turning year demanded something of me as well. A piece of the “old me” that I wasn’t ready to let go of yet.
Thus, in the few quiet moments before the clock struck midnight, I found myself grappling with the notion that maybe I also needed to change. I would wait in my bedroom, until the New Year occurred, then go downstairs and face the fact that I hadn’t even tried to fix anything. I would cry in the darkness of my room to sad music like I was in some teen drama on the Disney channel going through a breakup. But, in a way, I was. The past year became something of a phantom limb — a part of me that once was and never will be again. There’s an ache for the moments I couldn’t relive and outcomes I couldn’t control.
As much as I want to say there was some grand revelation that took me out of this slump or an epiphany that took my breath away and changed my entire worldview — that wouldn’t be true. Honestly, I don’t even remember when the transition started or the reason I got there. But in writing this piece, I put a lot of thought into what I have learned about this moment, and what I wanted to say next. I came to the conclusion that as the New Year dawns, it isn’t about forgetting the past, but about carrying its essence forward. I don’t mean clinging onto baggage or emotional blockades though, that is something I definitely encourage letting go of. Just like in the Disney channel breakups, you need to take the love and the lessons with you. And perhaps it isn’t even a breakup at all, but a celebration of the person you currently are and the perfectly imperfect person you will become. Less of a caterpillar in a cocoon and more of a bear coming out of hibernation — finding a healthy and well-rested version of yourself.
Acceptance truly came when I realized that the new year didn’t need to be a battleground of unattainable goals but an opportunity for gentle evolution. Instead of clinging to the fear that I was falling behind, I began to view each year as a new canvas, blank and awaiting my creativity. The apprehension in the face of change crumbled as I learned to be kinder to myself and redefine my version of success. I began to understand that growth didn’t mean I needed to change everything about myself, and I didn’t even need to change anything significant in one year! Growth often lies in the subtlety of small, consistent steps forward. The pressure to become the flawless version of myself gave way to the acceptance that I was a work in progress, and that is totally okay to be.
This acceptance also gave me a chance to practice gratitude. To acknowledge the great things I did the year prior, the people who helped me and the challenges I overcame. Setting attainable goals for the new year no longer feels like I was being forced through a garden maze with no real exit sign. This is not to say that I don’t still have mixed emotions at New Year’s. I’m still uneasy when dealing with big changes, and the apprehension that comes when facing the unknown will always linger. However, as the years have unfolded since I was 15, so too has the understanding that emotions need not be neatly packaged into categories of joy or anxiety or fear or excitement. It’s a blend, rich, and confusing, and maybe your palate isn’t quite refined enough to taste all the elements yet. Maybe I am still in that maze now, but at least I know that climbing over the hedge is an option.
Moving past obstacles created by mixed emotions involves embracing oneself without judgment, to change my own idea of a “successful” New Year. It’s okay to not have any goals, it’s okay to have goals and not meet them. I’ve realized that I don’t need a radical transformation to be worthy of love, or happiness. Life isn’t a makeover show on HGTV; it’s a messy, beautiful work-in-progress (even though I wish the Property Brothers would at least come help me clean up).