Life lessons, courtesy of 2025
The end of a year always feels like standing at the edge of a cliff. You look back and wonder how 12 months managed to slip through your fingers while your heart and mind were busy elsewhere. Some days felt painfully slow, some rushed past without saying hello, yet all of them left traces. As 2025 packs its bags, I am collecting the lessons it casually dropped along the way. Take what resonates. Politely decline the rest.
Problems do not disappear. They just get a rebrand.
Every January, we lie to ourselves with enthusiasm. This will be the year with fewer problems. This will be the year that behaves. But problems stay. They evolve. They show up with new names and bigger responsibilities. Yet somehow, we endure. Not always gracefully though. We survive days we were certain would break us. Plot twist: they didn’t.
Growing old sneaks up on you.
Aging arrives quietly. No warning. No dramatic moment. One day you feel young inside, and the next day your back aches. We age, our friends and family age, and we witness the slow unraveling of strength, energy, and memory. Inside, our spirit is stubbornly young. Outside, time insists on making itself visible. Youth does not leave in a blaze of glory. It slips out during heavier mornings when we witness ourselves and loved ones begin to fade at the edges. It is inevitable.
it whispers, even as the spirit stays young.
Cut out the negative with conviction.
Life is too short for people who bruise your spirit. If someone drains you, disrespects you, betrays you, or brings nothing but heaviness into your life, step away. No guilt. No hesitation. No explanation. Removing negativity is not cruelty. It is self-preservation. It is choosing peace over politeness.
—walking away is not cruelty, it’s self-preservation.
Having no reaction is a reaction.
I used to react to everything, always had a comment or some feedback, a review of sorts. However, I find this so consuming and I just don’t have the energy for it anymore. Now, as much as possible, I restrain myself from answering back, especially when feeling anger. As they used to say in the Eighties, “deadma.” The result : situations don’t blow up and there is more space for peace and healing. Not all circumstances need a response.
Manifestation happens quietly.
I used to think answered prayers would arrive with a grand entrance. Trumpets. Fireworks. A spotlight. Instead, they seeped into my life slowly, almost unnoticeably. Only later did I realize that many of my desires had already been bestowed in quiet, gentle ways. The universe prefers to whisper your granted wishes.
I did not know I was brave until I had no choice.
Courage is shy. It doesn’t announce itself. You don’t wake up one day declaring yourself brave. You face something terrifying, and you simply… do it. You don’t flinch. You move through fear because there is no alternative. Only later, when life finally exhales, do you realize the strength was yours all along.
Retirement life is a gift to be savored.
I once thought retirement meant pressing pause. Turns out it means finally pressing play. Time becomes something you hold gently instead of chase. Mornings feel sacred. Coffee tastes better when you’re not rushing. Birds sound more melodious. Sunlight feels like your power source. These small, quiet rituals become luxuries. Not the flashy kind, but the ones that feed your inner life.
Walking deserves more credit.
When I am down or need to “unthink,” I walk. Walking lifts me. Science may explain it, but my heart (literally and figuratively) feels it firsthand. Movement clears the fog. Nature steadies the nerves. Walking becomes a satisfying conversation with the world, one step at a time.
Life is tough, but it glows in unexpected ways.
Life punches, twists, and sometimes beats us down. But there are days that feel kinder. There are conversations that are inspiring. There are laughs that break through your darkest moments. There are tiny ordinary moments that feel sacred for no reason at all. Life is not simple. It is a dance between hardship and grace.
So goodbye, 2025. You were fast, amazing, occasionally heavy, and unexpectedly generous. You taught me how to walk through fear, edit my life with intention, and find joy in the smallest moments. As 2026 approaches, I step forward lighter, steadier, and ready.
Careful, world. I’ve learned a few things.
