Why the New Year Doesn’t Really Exist and Why that’s Good News

We are a lot more powerful than we think we are.

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Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash

We created this New Year after all. Well, our ancestors did.

The calendar was a human invention. The days, the months and the years a set of beliefs society adopted as a truth to live by.

I awoke this morning to my seven-year-olds sweet, high pitched voice asking me, “Mom, how many more of the months, you know like February until it’s the end of school?”

Half asleep, I smirked to myself.

I asked with a gentleness

It was an unnecessary question. I knew why she asked it. I used to ask it too. I count the days until vacation; when I’m feeling weak I let my mind take over.

We are trained to focus on the future — to see some better reward out there than this moment. Days off of school or work are held in a more sacred light — why? Because the mind likes it that way, that’s why.

We can re-train the mind. We can teach it to see the here and now as more sacred than the future —

The now is the most vital time there is.

The calendar exists because our ancestors created it. They invented the days and the months adding up to a year. Because they believed it, so do we.

If we can believe in the calendar — in the imaginary future generations before us dreamed up, then we can believe in the now.

The now is potent and magical.

Being in the now doesn’t mean we don’t entertain the future, because the mind most certainly will, perhaps it already is. You’re here, but you’re there. You’re reading and maybe a memory is triggered or your date for tonight texts you and you get pulled into a fantasy about what will happen later on.

Being in the now means we embrace the mind and its ability to imagine a future that doesn’t exist.

Being in the now means we entertain whisps of memories of the past as they float through our psyche in random moments throughout the day.

Most importantly, being in the now means savoring this moment. Bodily sensations. Inhalations and exhalations. Emotions. Thoughts. The outer landscape in all its sensation-filled glory.

The New Year is given so much energy and attention as a turning point in our lives because we have created it to be so. Generations have given this Eve special energy with the power of their own intention and belief.

On this Eve, we make intentions to do things we “wished” we had been doing to live a healthier, happier, holier life the past year. We make intentions based on regrets or losses. We seek gains and fulfillment. We crave love over loss.

What if every day was as sacred and powerful as we made New Year’s Eve and Day to be?

Well here’s a little secret.

Every day we hold the power to create and believe something new. In fact, we hold that power in each moment.

We are reminded of that power when we breathe. Each inhale and exhale is a reminder of life pumping through us — a reminder to savor what’s going on within us as much as what is going out outside of us.

I enjoy reading social media posts about New Year’s intentions, but I also smirk inwardly at each post I read. My smirk contains a wish — a hope. My smirk contains a desire for that person creating that New Year’s intention to continue to create like that daily, just like my smirk wished for my daughter this morning.

It’s hard to ignore the vibes and beliefs of the masses, especially when they are full of feel-good words and phrases like they are on New Year’s. On the eve of 2019, I am reveling in the celebratory vibes floating about.

On this eve of what the western world calls a New Year, I sit with myself in the now and I savor one moment rolling into the next, each one just as alive as the other. Each one just as important as the next.

There is one caveat to my savoring though: my New Year’s Eve self stays slightly detached, not putting any more thought or feeling into the moments I spend savoring than I put into the moments that come before or after the New Year.

Why would I?

Why would you?

This life we have been given is one long heartbeat. No moment any different than the next when broken down to its core structure.

Dear reader, I wish for you a long heartbeat of a year,

Dear reader, I wish for you a long heartbeat of a life.

If you choose to separate your moments into days and months and years, just remember what they are made out of. May we both remember this time thing is just a figment of our imagination. May this remembering bring us back to that place where we can savor — this moment, right here, right now, one heartbeat at a time.

One long, timeless heartbeat.

Written by

I write as a soul having a human experience. Former therapist, yoga instructor, and world traveler. www.sarahtheresalamb.com

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