On Letting Go, Decluttering, and Quiet Resilience….

The end of the year countdown begins now…. While Christmas is a season that comes with lots of prep, for me the end of Christmas day is filled with reflection. The end of the year is on the horizon, one week to the day… Time, it is true it does march on. This evening, I have considered starting the undecorating but let that go. I felt a need to write instead. I have been doing some decluttering, it is needed, I am tired of the stuff, the overstuff. I know no one else will ever really want it or have a feeling or need for anything  I own. I get it. But tonight, it is not things that you can touch that are needing uncluttered.

As the final week of the year quietly settles in, the flurry of Christmas preparation has started to fade into a gentler season of reflection. While the world outside still glimmers with the remnants of holiday lights and the echoes of laughter, tonight feels different. The rush is over, and in the soft afterglow of Christmas day, I find myself drawn inward, enveloped by a contemplative calm.

There is a temptation to begin the process of undecorating, to pack away ornaments and sweep away the pine needles as a symbolic gesture of moving forward. Yet, I’ve decided to let that go, for now. The gentle urge to write is stronger—an invitation to pause and gather my thoughts before the inevitable march of time carries me into another year.

In recent days, I have taken small steps toward decluttering my home. The accumulation of things—trinkets, papers, forgotten gifts—has become overwhelming. I am tired of the stuff, weighed down by the overabundance that seems to multiply when I’m not looking. Experience has taught me that no one else will ever want these things, that they may never hold meaning for another person. I understand that letting go is not just a physical act, but an emotional one.

Yet, tonight, it is not just the tangible clutter that calls for my attention. Beneath the surface, my mind is just as crowded—full of memories, intentions, unfinished thoughts, and the quiet ache of what hasn’t been completed. The need to unclutter the heart feels just as pressing as organizing the shelves.

In the midst of my cleaning, I discovered an old journal. I am no stranger to journals—I start them in moments of inspiration, writing diligently for a while, only to set them aside as life moves on. This particular journal brought a wave of realization… every new year, I carry the same good intentions. I make plans to change, to fix, to accomplish, and to grow. But as the months pass, many of those intentions fade into the background.

Rereading my words from years past, I find comfort in the fact that, although I haven’t accomplished everything, I have endured. The issues that once seemed so pressing, the tasks I never quite completed, the goals that remain unfinished—all of these are part of my story. I may not have checked every box or transformed every aspect of my life, but I made it through another year, learning and persevering in my own quiet way.

As I look towards the horizon of a new year, I am reminded that progress isn’t always measured in tasks completed or goals achieved. Sometimes, the greatest accomplishment is simply moving forward, carrying with us what matters and releasing what no longer serves. This season of reflection is a time to honor persistence, to give myself grace for what remains undone, and to find gratitude in the resilience that has brought me this far.

Tonight, I choose to sit amidst the remnants of Christmas, the clutter of life, and the unfinished pages of my journal. I will let this be enough. The countdown to the new year has begun, and with it, the promise of new beginnings, endings, unrushed, unburdened, and full of quiet hope.