Everyone Reaches 31st December Differently

Why the same date feels like celebration, confusion, and reckoning—all at once

Suddenly, it’s 31st December.

No warning. No build-up. Just a calendar page flipping itself with the confidence of something that knows it cannot be negotiated with.

And I am not 31 anymore.
I haven’t been 31 for long enough that it now feels more like a historical reference.

This day arrives every year with suspicious efficiency, like it has been watching us procrastinate for months and finally decided to intervene. One moment it’s July, and you’re saying, “There’s time.” The next moment, December 31st taps you on the shoulder and says, rather politely,
“So… about those plans?”

Is it just me, or does the year-end bring with it a very specific kind of mental confusion?

On one side of the brain, there’s excitement.

New year. Fresh beginnings. Clean notebooks. That annual burst of optimism where everything still feels possible… and nothing has asked for effort yet.

On the other side, there’s a quieter voice.
Slightly stunned. Mildly suspicious. Wondering how twelve months passed like a badly edited montage.

Weren’t we just making plans? Didn’t we say this would be the year?

The year-end, I’ve realised, is an awkward family gathering of emotions.

Joy shows up early.

Regret arrives unannounced.

Hope brings snacks.

Guilt insists it’s “just dropping by.”

Gratitude sits quietly in the corner.

Confusion stays the longest.

There were plans, of course. Always are.
Grand ones. Sensible ones. Some written carefully in diaries, others stored optimistically in the mind under Will Definitely Happen Soon.

And yet, here we are, staring at the year’s ledger, noticing how many entries are unfinished, half-ticked, or quietly abandoned without explanation.

And then comes the bigger question.
It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t dramatise. It simply appears.

What exactly is left?

Not in a philosophical, end-of-the-world way. More in a practical, end-of-the-year way.

As the years gather behind us, we start counting differently.

Not just achievements and failures, but energy. Patience. Time. And sometimes, people.

Which makes you wonder –
Is the year-end meant for celebration or contemplation?
For prayer and meditation?
Or is it perfectly acceptable to forget everything and dance badly for a few hours?

The honest answer is mildly inconvenient.

There are no perfect answers.

Because all of us are living inside different versions of the same year.

Some people made serious progress.
Some lost heavily—things, people, certainty.
Some had a perfectly mediocre year, which in hindsight might actually be a quiet victory.
Some stumbled into unexpected gains.
Some discovered they were unwell.
Some lost someone they loved.
Some are caring for someone who now needs them every single day, quietly and without applause.

All of this happened this year.
At the same time.
On the same calendar.

Which is why expecting everyone to feel the same way on December 31st is, frankly, unreasonable.

A billion people.
A billion endings.
A billion private summaries.

Even when we think we’re going through similar situations, the weight, timing, and texture of our experiences are entirely our own.

So maybe the confusion we feel at year-end isn’t something to resolve.

Maybe it’s protection.
The universe’s polite way of saying, “Not yet. Sit down.”

A reminder that some things weren’t denied, abandoned, or forgotten. They were simply not ready… for our schedules, our energy, or the version of us that still thought multitasking was a personality trait.

So the year ends.
Not with answers.
But with an invitation.

To pause.
To be honest.
To carry forward what still matters.
And to quietly pretend that a few abandoned plans were strategic choices.

We step into the New Year a little older, a little wiser, and considerably less impressed with our own overconfidence. With fewer resolutions, more humility, and a growing appreciation for naps.

And if nothing else…
we admit, with a small, knowing smile that time does fly.

Especially when you’re no longer 31… and haven’t been for a few decades.