31/12/2025
As 2025 draws its final breath, it leaves behind a landscape forever changed—a year that functioned as both a hollow and a sanctuary. It was the year the world grew quieter, not by choice, but by the profound gravity of loss and the sudden, unscripted stillness of retirement.
The departure of my mother remains the year’s most aching silhouette. To lose the person who was the primary witness to my existence is to lose a foundational North Star; the world simply feels thinner without her. This year, I learned that grief is not a task to be completed, but a new way of walking through a room. The "library of our shared history" may have closed its doors, but I carry the echoes of its stories in every quiet moment.
Parallel to this heartache was the surrender of my professional identity. After a lifetime of measuring my worth by the length of a to-do list, retirement arrived not as a celebration, but as a confrontation with the silence. Without the armor of a career, I was left standing bare before myself. 2025 became the year I stopped "doing" and finally started "being." I discovered that when the external noise of expectation is stripped away, what remains is not a void, but a soul ready to be reintroduced.
I am leaving 2025 with a compass that no longer points toward productivity, but toward "gentle intentionality." I have realized that my value was never held in my output, but in the resilience I showed when the world fell apart.
As I step into 2026, I do so with the kindness and strength forged in this year’s fires. I am moving toward a life of service—not out of obligation, but out of a genuine desire to offer my presence to others. Retirement is no longer a destination; it is the sacred work of rediscovery. 2025 taught me the grueling art of letting go; 2026 will be the year I learn, with steady hands and a mended heart, exactly what is worth holding onto.