New Year’s Eve: No Fireworks, Just Forward

New Year’s Eve. Standing on the thin line between 2025 and 2026 like it’s some kind of magical reset instead of just another page on the calendar. Same aches. Same bills. Same world that hasn’t learned a damn thing. But sure, let’s count backwards and pretend fireworks fix things.

I’m not making resolutions. Haven’t in years. I already know how that goes. You swear you’ll eat better, sleep more, stress less, and by February you’re right back where you started, just colder and more disappointed.

Life doesn’t change because the clock says midnight. It changes because you drag yourself through the hard parts and don’t quit.

Simple as that.

Where I Was a Year Ago

2025 had its moments. Some good. Some heavy. Some that stuck longer than I wanted them to.

A year ago tonight, I was in bad shape. The worst shape I’d been in. My hip was bone-on-bone, held together by stubbornness and ibuprofen. Every step felt like grinding glass. Sleep was a joke. Walking to the mailbox was a negotiation I usually lost.

I was a week away from surgery. Full hip replacement. First week of January.

I didn’t know if it would work. Didn’t know if I’d ever hike again. Didn’t know if the pain would actually stop or if this was just my new normal—titanium or not.

I thought my hiking days were over. Not just reduced. Over.

What Actually Happened

But I was wrong.

This year, I stood at the edge of Cutler Coast and looked out over the Bay of Fundy. I walked through Vaughan Woods and listened to water spill over stone. I laced up my boots on foggy mornings and hit trails I thought I’d never see again.

Not fast. Not far. But I was there.

A year ago, I couldn’t walk to the end of my driveway without paying for it. Now I’m hiking three-mile loops. Carrying a camera. Coming home tired instead of broken.

That’s not nothing.

What I Lost and What I Gained

I lost things this year. We all did. Time we can’t get back. People we miss. Versions of ourselves we had to let go of because they don’t fit anymore.

But I gained things too.

I learned what my body can still do when I stop asking it to be what it used to be. I learned that progress doesn’t always look like summits—sometimes it just looks like walking without limping.

I learned that the people who stick around when you’re slow and broken and figuring it out? Those are your people. The ones who don’t need you to be impressive. Just present.

I learned that a sunrise on a quiet trail is worth more than most things we spend money on.

And I learned that showing up—even when it’s hard, even when it hurts, even when you’re not sure it matters—always matters.

What I’m Hoping For in 2026

So here’s to 2026.

No grand speeches. No promises I won’t keep.

Just hoping for more quiet mornings. Fewer emergencies. Enough good moments to balance out the bad ones.

Hoping we’re a little kinder. A little tougher. Maybe a little less stupid as a society. I’m not holding my breath, but hope’s a stubborn thing.

I hope I get to hike a little farther this year. I hope my hip holds up. I hope the people I love stay safe and healthy and close.

And I hope that if you’re reading this and you’re struggling—with your body, your mind, your circumstances, whatever it is—you know that showing up counts. Even when it doesn’t feel like enough. Even when you’re limping. Even when nobody’s watching.

You showed up. That matters.

Take the Win

Be safe tonight. Don’t drive like an idiot. Check on your people.

And if you’re lucky enough to be warm, fed, and breathing when the clock flips over?

Take the win.

Because a year ago, I was sitting here wondering if I’d ever walk a trail again. Wondering if the surgery would work. Wondering if the best days were behind me.

And I was wrong.

So maybe 2026 holds a few more surprises. Maybe there are trails I haven’t walked yet. Views I haven’t seen. Moments I haven’t earned.

I don’t know what this year’s got.

But I’m still here to find out.

Happy New Year.

Let’s see what this one’s got.