As the year is coming to an end, it makes me wonder what’s so different between the last, this and the next. If we are constantly passionate about what we’re doing, there seems to be no need to anticipate a new year.
The issue is that many, many of us are still figuring out what intrigues us incessantly, or we have just yet to be able to engage in that intrigue due to realistic commitments. Duty and meaning seem to disagree after a blind accordance of either one.
When you switch to a new calendar, what makes you think much will fatalistically change? Is New Year resolution a self-fulfilling prophecy or just a self-comforting hoax?
A different calendar may just prove to be detrimental instead. Why is it that we ought to be evidently more intelligent and apt at making decisions the next year? What makes everyone think so haughtily and unrealistically that the transience from 31st December to 1st January gives them the right to demand a change in another person’s life? Changes are confusing.
The calendar merely provides the knowledge of the movement of time. We are always inside time, presumably an entity. It’s not time that moves, but us that evolves. Time is always there. We won’t run out of time, but we will run out of strength. By the time we forget the past we now remember, it’s almost like time didn’t exist.