The Year Is Simply the Receipt

For the last week, I’ve noticed more people running through the neighborhood.

More walkers too.

It’s that final stretch of the year—the cultural warm-up lap before new year, new me kicks in.

And it always makes me wonder how many will still be out there when it’s no longer shiny.

When it’s old.

When it’s boring.

When habit pulls them back into the well-worn ruts carved over years.

There’s another group too—the ones squeezing out every last bit of the bad stuff.

The indulgence purge.

The “gotta get it out before the New Year” mindset.

As if a date on the calendar has the power to absolve us.

I don’t believe change waits for calendars.

I believe it starts the moment we stop outsourcing intention.

Most people wait for 365 tomorrows to stack up before they allow themselves to begin.

But tomorrow is only one.

And more often than not, it’s barely half of one—already in motion before we realize what needs adjusting, what needs stopping, what needs becoming.

Progress rarely announces itself.

Growth doesn’t throw confetti.

A tree we planted years ago grows quietly, a little more each day.

The lights turn on when we flip the switch.

The world keeps working in ways we barely notice—until something breaks.

What if we paid as much attention to what’s consistently good as we do to what’s loudly wrong?

What if we stopped waiting for permission from a calendar and started taking ourselves seriously—today?

Not because the year changed.

But because we did.

The calendar doesn’t decide anything.

Tomorrow does its quiet work whether we’re watching or not.

And next year?

Next year doesn’t choose the direction.

It simply prints the receipt.