The Year Without Resolve

 

-LittleFawn

(A Tale of Stagnation and Silent Yearning)

Happy New Year! Or perhaps, not-so-happy, considering it’s already February. The confetti has long settled, the fireworks have faded, and here I am, throwing around a half-hearted greeting. Insincere, isn’t it? But let’s skip the formalities.

What about you? What’s your resolution for this year? Have you mapped out any grand plans? Any fresh starts or daring goals? Have you envisioned a future that outshines the shadow of the previous year? Are you prepared to face whatever lies ahead?

If your answer is yes, congratulations. You and I couldn’t be more different.

You see, I haven’t thought of a single thing. Not a goal, not a change, not even a half-baked idea to cling to. It’s not apathy—it’s something heavier, something more complicated.

Last year was a wasteland of missed opportunities and abandoned ambitions. And this year? I’m standing at the edge of it, ready to waste it too. Shameless, right? But it’s the truth.

I could lie, tell myself and you that I’ll turn it all around. That this will be the year. But I won’t. Because deep down, I know that inertia has me in its grip. If by some miracle I stumble upon something worthwhile, something unexpected, that alone will be a triumph.

The irony is, I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Why now, after months of silence? Maybe it’s an itch, a restless urge to spill my thoughts without rhyme or reason. Or maybe it’s something else—a desperate attempt to wake myself up or to shake you awake.

But wake up to what, exactly?

Reality? A cruel, unrelenting truth that offers no solace? Or perhaps it’s to acknowledge the absurdity of our annual rituals—resolutions that are more fragile than frost, crumbling under the weight of time.

This isn’t a pep talk, and it certainly isn’t advice. It’s just noise—a dialogue with the void, dressed up as a tale. A tale without a hero, a plot, or even a moral. Yet, perhaps there’s a kind of honesty in that.

So here’s the truth, unvarnished and raw: I have no plans, no direction, and no grand vision for this year. All I have is this moment, this string of words, and the faint hope that putting them out into the world might mean something, even if it’s just to me.

Let’s call this what it is: a New Year without new resolutions. A stagnant pool of time, waiting to see if ripples will form.

If you’re like me, standing in this peculiar limbo, know that you’re not alone. And if you’re the opposite—someone with plans and purpose—then I envy you, even as I quietly root for you.

So, here’s my closing thought: Happy New Year, in whatever way you define it. Whether it’s a fresh start, a continuation, or, like me, a year of quiet existence. Perhaps, within the stillness, we’ll discover something we didn’t know we were searching for.