The fireworks have stopped, the noise has died down, and the confetti has been swept away. We are left with the quiet reality of January, a month that demands we suddenly become better versions of ourselves. I usually succumb to this pressure, buying planners I won’t use and making promises I can’t keep.
But this year felt different. Instead of looking forward with pressure about who I should be, I found myself looking in the mirror and simply accepting who I am. This shift in perspective didn't come from a motivational video or a gym membership; it came from a quiet evening spent reading Jasmines in Her Hair by Kalpesh Desai.
Specifically, I paused for a long time on the poem "I Raise My Glass to Another Year." It felt less like a poem and more like an anthem for those of us who are done with the performative side of New Year's resolutions.
We spend so much of our lives trying to remain "ageless" or pretending that the years haven't touched us. We hide our exhaustion. We mask our cynicism. But Desai invites us to look closer and appreciate the toll the journey has taken.
“I raise my glass to another year,
No flights of fancy, no delusions, no fear.
It takes a moment to recognize that face in the mirror,
Blurry-eyed, and yet a vision clear.”
There is power in that clarity. Admitting that we have "graying temples" or "weather-beaten hands" isn't an admission of defeat. It is proof of survival. It means we lived through the storms of the previous year and are still standing. This January, my resolution isn't to fix my flaws; it is to own my history.
Part of owning that history involves admitting what isn't working. Last year, I spent too much energy managing other people's perceptions of me. I wore a mask of competence and happiness even when I was crumbling inside.
Desai’s poem "Tiredness" resonated deeply with me during this reflection. It gave voice to the exhaustion that comes from living inauthentically.
“I’m tired of trying to fake a smile,
of having to walk that extra mile.
I'm tired of trying to be
your best version of me.
Today, I will rest awhile,
for I refuse to be on trial.
Today, I'll take time out for me,
set my mind at ease and set my spirit free.
Your validation, I shall no longer crave,
nor bury my aspirations in a grave.
Today, I've decided.
No longer shall I remain tired
or let go of what I once desired.”
This is the energy I am bringing into the new year. I am stepping off the witness stand. I am done being on trial for my choices, my career path, or my relationship status. The "pretenses" we keep up are heavy, and January is the perfect time to set that baggage down.
Once we accept our age and drop the pretenses, something magical happens: we make room for hope. Not the naive hope of childhood, but the sturdy, grounded hope of adulthood.
For a long time, I stopped dreaming because I was too afraid of disappointment. I stuck to the practical, the achievable, the safe. But reading "New Dreams" reminded me that cynicism is just a defense mechanism, not a virtue.
“For the first time,
in many years.
I’ve started dreaming again.
Of the mountains we’d climb,
conquering our fears.”
This year, I want to climb those mountains. I want to be jealous of my own words because they get to land on the eyes of someone I love. I want to feel that rush of possibility again.
As we settle into the rhythm of the new year, I am not asking for a perfect life. I am not asking for a year without challenges. I am simply asking for the strength to face whatever comes with the quiet confidence of someone who knows who they are.
Desai concludes his toast with lines that I have written down in my journal to keep me grounded:
“I am now the beacon and the shore,
I’ve caught my breath, and ready for more!”
I have caught my breath. I have looked in the mirror. And for the first time in a long time, I am ready for more.
By June Carlo Catulong