End-of-Year Journaling
It’s December 14, 2025. I’m writing this at Starbucks by Como Lake in Coquitlam, Canada, with “Last Christmas” by Wham! playing in the background. Honestly—what a vibe.
Maybe it’s the year-end energy, the holiday season, or that quiet pressure to “finish something” before 2026 starts. Whatever it is, it brought me back to writing. Writing fills my time, yes—but it also makes me feel grounded and productive, like I’m putting something real on the page instead of letting the days blur together.
To be fair, this might not interest a lot of people. There’s a saying that no one really cares what you’re doing or what you’re thinking—and I can see the truth in it sometimes. Most of us are busy just trying to live: deciding what to cook, what to wear, where to meet friends, finishing chores, paying bills, catching up on sleep… you know how it goes.
Right across from me, on my left, a student is focused on her laptop—probably coursework. She looks calm, studious, and completely in her zone. Next to her is a couple waiting for their coffee. Judging by their outfits, it’s a relaxed Sunday coffee date. The couple near me is glued to their phones. On my right, a family is chatting casually in their native language. From the sound of it, they’re speaking Korean.
And me? I’m reading sentences out loud while I write, sipping a gingerbread oat chai, and minding my own business. Basically.
Every year—whether we notice it or not—big things happen. Here are a few positive shifts that stood out to me:
- AI is being adopted across more industries, little by little.
- Renewable energy continues to hit major growth milestones.
- Space exploration keeps moving forward.
- Internet access is expanding globally, helping more people connect.
- Mental health conversations are becoming more open and accepted.
- Entrepreneurship is growing across different age groups.
Sometimes I wonder where we’ll be in 50 years—collectively. The safest answer is: no one knows. Still, it’s interesting to think that this piece of writing could be something I return to decades from now, to see what came true and what didn’t. Hopefully I’ll still have sharp eyes and a steady mind.
What about you? Do you feel clear about what you want to do in life?
I’m asking because I don’t always. There are moments when I feel lost—like I’m searching for something that gives life more purpose and meaning. Or maybe I’m just wanting joy to feel simpler, lighter, easier to reach.
Dear me… is this what they call a midlife crisis? (I’m quietly laughing as I type this part.)
A little context about me: I’m in my late 30s. I’m grateful to have good counsel, and amazing friends and family around me. The last three years brought heartbreaks that changed me in ways I’m still understanding.
I also have a decent-sized piece of acreage back home—land I genuinely look forward to tending. My dream is to start small: raise free-range chickens and goats, and build something steady over time. When I picture it, I think: simple life.
I asked a friend for advice—whether I should take a year-long break from work to finally pursue this project. He said that if he were in my position, and the option was truly on the table, he’d do it. The conversation reminded me to stay engaged in the life I already have: the patients I support in the community and in the general surgery unit, my volunteer work in prison and at church, and maybe even making space for singing. In the meantime.
Because life is beautiful—and full of possibilities—but it can also be overwhelming.
When it’s easy to compare our lives to everyone else’s, doubt can sneak in. Loneliness can grow quietly. Frustration can build. Even when things look “fine” from the outside, the inside can feel complicated.
What helps me is paying attention to what I feed my mind—what I read, watch, repeat, and believe. It helps to focus on progress, even the small wins that seem too ordinary to celebrate. And it helps to stay grounded in identity: knowing who you are, beyond achievements and timelines.
And when none of that works? I take a walk.
Walking doesn’t solve everything, but it resets something. It clears the noise. It loosens the heaviness. It reminds me that I’m still here—and life is still moving.
If you read this and it resonated with you in any way, I’d honestly love to hear your story, too. Isn’t it amazing that we can connect with someone from across the world?
Send me an email and let’s connect: [email protected]
