Midnight happened.
Nothing followed.
No shift.
No click.
No internal software update.
Just the same brain
in a slightly louder room
holding a drink it didn’t want
counting down to a number that doesn’t do anything.
People hugged.
People cried.
People posted captions about beginnings.
The clock moved.
That’s all.
The Calendar Is a Prop
We pretend dates mean things because the alternative is worse.
Because if time doesn’t arrive in clean blocks,
then it’s just a smear.
No edges.
No permission to stop being who you were five minutes ago.
January is not a fresh start.
It’s a continuation with better branding.
The same habits drag themselves across the line.
The same dread.
The same unfinished sentences in your head.
Only now you’re expected to be hopeful about it.
Everyone Is Performing Renewal
Gyms fill up.
Feeds reset.
Words like intention and alignment crawl out of hiding.
Nobody believes it.
But everyone participates.
Because opting out feels like admitting you’re already tired
and it’s only day one.
We are not optimistic.
We are compliant.
Time Keeps Going and We’re Supposed to Act Normal
The year changed.
The systems didn’t.
Same rent.
Same work that eats daylight.
Same background anxiety humming like bad wiring in the walls.
We toast to survival
like it’s a victory
instead of a baseline expectation.
Nobody asks if you want another year.
They just hand it to you
and expect gratitude.
Hope Is Quiet Now
Hope used to be loud.
Marching.
Announcing itself.
Now it whispers.
Hides behind sarcasm.
Pretends it’s a joke in case it gets laughed at.
Caring openly feels embarrassing.
Like you missed the memo
that said we’re all supposed to be detached now.
So we say “we’ll see”
instead of “I want”
and call that maturity.
The Truth Nobody Posts
Most people didn’t reset.
They endured.
They crossed the year boundary
the way you cross a street
without looking up
because stopping would mean feeling too much.
January doesn’t fix anything.