Some years end with a bang.
Others just sort of… exhale.

This one feels like the second.

I’m not sitting here doing a highlight reel.
No “best of” list.
No numbers.
No pretending I cracked some secret code to life, business, parenting, or inner peace.

What I am doing is taking stock of what I’m quietly putting down before the year ends.

Not in a dramatic, burn-it-all-down way.
More like emptying your pockets at the end of a long day and realising you’ve been carrying way more than you needed to.

Here’s what I’m not taking into next year.

I’m not taking the pressure to have it figured out.

Somewhere along the way, we decided adults are meant to be confident, decisive, and clear at all times.
That by a certain age, you’re supposed to know where you’re going, why you’re going there, and how long it’ll take.

That’s rubbish.

This year reminded me that clarity comes and goes.
Confidence is situational.
And most people are improvising far better than they’re admitting.

I don’t need a five-year plan to move forward.
I just need to show up reasonably well tomorrow.

That’s enough.

I’m not taking unnecessary urgency.

Everything feels urgent now.
Emails.
Messages.
Decisions.
Deadlines that apparently cannot survive until Monday.

This year taught me that most urgency is manufactured.
It exists because someone else feels stressed, not because the thing actually matters.

The Stoics were big on distinguishing between what demands immediate action and what simply demands patience.
I ignored that more than I’d like to admit.

Next year, fewer things get my instant reaction.
More things get a pause.

I’m not taking guilt for being human.

I snapped this year.
I got tired.
I lost patience.
I woke up in bad moods with no clear cause.
I apologised more than once.

That doesn’t make me broken.
It makes me human.

Somewhere we decided personal growth meant never slipping.
Never reacting.
Never getting it wrong.

That’s not growth.
That’s denial.

Growth looks like catching yourself sooner.
Repairing faster.
Laughing at yourself instead of spiralling.

I’m keeping that version of progress.

I’m not taking the need to be constantly available.

This year made it very clear:
Being reachable isn’t the same as being present.

You can answer everything and still miss the moments that matter.
You can be “on” all the time and slowly hollow yourself out.

Next year, fewer notifications get access to me.
More people in front of me get my attention.

That feels like a fair trade.

I’m not taking comparison.

Not the loud kind.
The quiet kind.

The subtle scrolling.
The mental tallying.
The wondering if I should be doing more, faster, better, bigger.

Comparison doesn’t motivate me.
It distracts me.

The Stoics warned about this long before social media existed.
Measuring your life against other people’s outcomes is a shortcut to dissatisfaction.

Next year, I’m staying in my lane.
It’s messy, imperfect, and it’s mine.

I’m not taking expectations I never agreed to.

This one took me a while to notice.

The expectations that creep in silently.
Be more available.
Be more impressive.
Be calmer.
Be further along by now.

Most of those expectations weren’t spoken.
They weren’t agreed upon.
And they definitely weren’t realistic.

Next year, I’m questioning expectations before I try to live up to them.

I’m not taking self-importance.

This year humbled me in small, regular ways.
Kids don’t care about titles.
Life doesn’t care about plans.
And the universe is perfectly happy rearranging your schedule whenever it feels like it.

That’s not a bad thing.

Letting go of self-importance makes room for humour.
And humour makes everything lighter.

I’m not taking the belief that next year needs a new version of me.

No reinvention.
No dramatic overhaul.
No “new year, new me” nonsense.

Just the same me, slightly more honest.
Slightly more patient.
Slightly better at letting go of what doesn’t deserve energy.

That feels sustainable.

If there’s one Stoic idea I’m carrying forward, it’s this:
Life gets lighter when you stop gripping so tightly.

So that’s how I’m ending the year.
Not by adding more.
By carrying less.

If this year taught me anything, it’s that peace isn’t found in control.
It’s found in acceptance.
And progress often looks like subtraction.

If you’re closing out the year tired, unsure, or quietly relieved it’s over — you’re not behind.
You’re human.

And that’s a pretty solid place to start again.

If this gave you something to think about, feel free to forward it to someone who might need a softer ending to the year.
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Until next year,
Broden Johnson

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