The beginning of a new year is upon us. If your year has been anything like mine, it has flown by. This year has been a vibrant tapestry—filled with incredible moments and, yes, unexpected challenges and twists that remind me how dynamic life truly is.

Maybe that’s just how all years are.

I love the lead-up to and beginning of a new year. Even though time and how we track it is an illusion or a man-made construct, it is steeped in legacy, tradition, and the shared human desire for renewal. We’ve come to associate this time with new beginnings and letting go of the past.

Even if you don’t have an annual ritual for marking the transition from one year to the next—whether it’s setting resolutions, a burning bowl ceremony, or another rite of passage—it’s in the air. For most of us, there’s an inventory and intention-setting process that happens almost subconsciously.

And it likely started a couple of weeks ago.

As I reflect, I notice a shift—one that might resonate with others who are a bit further along life’s path. This year feels different, somehow richer with perspective.

For most of my life, I’ve looked ahead to what I’d like to create, experience, or change in the upcoming year. What do I want my next twelve months to look like? What do I want to achieve, or what do I want to be different by this time next year?

But this year, something new is creeping in.

I find myself thinking not just about the next year but about the next 5 or 10 years.

Aging changes things. It shifts what we can do physically, emotionally, mentally, and dare I say, spiritually. Things that were once effortless now take more consideration and care. Stamina, flexibility, clarity, strength—they haven’t disappeared, but they require more intention to sustain. Let’s just say I’m not jumping much these days.

Aging also slows things down in a way that invites contemplation. I spend more time thinking about how I’ll accomplish what I want to achieve and how to extend the time I have to enjoy the passions, interests, and activities that mean the most to me.

This shift changes the choices I make today. They’re not just about the next six months but about five, ten, even twenty years from now. If I want to travel, I need to be able to get around. If I want to paint or write, I need to ensure I have a sanctuary of focus and inspiration. If I want to feel connected to family and friends, I need to nurture those relationships—even when it takes more effort than it used to.

For me, the biggest priority is health. I’ve always taken for granted that I could “power through” when needed. But this year taught me that powering through isn’t always an option.

When I was remodeling Storm Wisdom, I decided I could take out walls, pull up flooring, and even take down a suspended ceiling grid myself. I might have been able to do some of it, but it was a lot harder and took much more time than I expected. It was humbling, to say the least.

The bright side of this awareness is that it allows me to prioritize and make decisions with the future in mind—not just the immediate future, but the long-term. I may not have the oblivion of youth, thinking I can do it all, but I’m keenly aware I can still do a lot.

If the letting go and new beginnings I focus on today are viewed through a longer lens, they become even more meaningful.

This awareness is its own new beginning—a reminder that every choice we make today shapes the rich, fulfilling life we envision tomorrow.

How about you? What are you envisioning and creating newly in the new year? Happy 2025!