I always get excited for a new year. When the calendar year flips, it means fresh notebooks, a fresh year number in the date, an actual fresh calendar. The newness of a new year inspires us to look forward, to make resolutions, to try to change ourselves for the better.
The problem with the official New Year to me, though, is that it feels arbitrary. We celebrate the New Year on January 1, a date on a calendar that really has nothing to do with anything real that I can see. Why then, on that date? The New Year is not on a solstice, it’s not on an equinox, it’s not related to the moon or the stars or anything in our environment that I’m aware of.
My birthday, though. Now that’s something relevant to me. That’s a new year that makes sense. Today marks my new year: my 46th trip around the sun.
2020 is a dumpster fire that is very difficult to not be consumed by. I don’t want to wait until an arbitrary date to be intentional about my life, to try to bring goodness into it. So I decided to set my intentions now, for my personal new year:
- Appreciate beauty and excellence in the mundane.
- Practice love and acts of kindness.
These are things I can control. These are things that help me keep despair at bay in 2020 when I remember to do them. These are things I know from practice (and from the science of well-being course I took!) bring deep, real, and lasting happiness.