Every year, right about now, the resolutions start rolling in like clockwork.
Eat better.
Work out more.
Lose weight.
Get healthier.
Accomplish greatness.
Become a calmer, shinier, better-behaved human by February…
or at least until someone brings donuts into the break room.
And listen—none of that is bad. Truly.
I’m not anti-salad or anti-movement. I respect a treadmill. I just don’t want it judging me while I’m eating cheese later.
But this year, I realized something important:
I don’t want a better body more than I want a truer life.
Because all the goals we stack on the outside only work when something changes on the inside first—and that part does not magically happen at midnight on January 1st.
It happens in moments we don’t post about.
The unfiltered ones.
The “wow, that reaction was uncalled for” ones.
I Know Who You Are in Traffic
(And So Do You)
I don’t actually need to know your New Year’s resolutions.
I need to know who you are when:
- you’re late
- your coffee didn’t kick in
- the light turns red again
- and someone merges like they got their driver’s license from a raccoon who was caught in traffic, panicked, and chose chaos
That’s the real reveal.
Because who we are when we’re rushed, irritated, boxed in, and unseen—that’s who’s actually running the show.
No gym membership has ever fixed that.
And no, I’m not judging.
I’m speaking as someone who has had very spiritual thoughts… immediately followed by very unspiritual hand gestures behind the steering wheel.
Growth is humbling. Traffic is revealing.
The Work Is Deeper Than Diets and Deadlines
Every year, we resolve to change our habits.
But habits don’t form in a vacuum.
Healthy choices grow out of self-respect.
Consistency grows out of honesty.
Real change grows out of awareness.
You can’t out-diet impatience.
You can’t out-exercise resentment.
You can’t accomplish greatness while ignoring who you are behind closed doors—or in the grocery store checkout line when someone is paying with exact change, coupons from 1997, and a deep emotional commitment to each transaction.
The work we keep promising ourselves to do on the outside only sticks when we’re willing to do the quieter, deeper work on the inside.
No One Is Doing a Bad Job at Life
This part matters.
I don’t believe people are careless with time on purpose.
I don’t believe anyone wakes up thinking, “Ah yes, today I will completely squander my existence.”
Time doesn’t slip away because we’re failing.
It slips away because unawareness is the default setting.
We don’t feel time passing while we’re inside it.
We feel it later—
when someone is gone,
when a season ends,
when we’re standing at the end of the year saying,
“Wait… how is it already over?”
Time didn’t suddenly speed up.
We just stopped noticing.
Somewhere between Monday and Friday, time disappears entirely. I don’t know where it goes—but I suspect it’s hiding with my patience, my phone charger, and half my socks.
And I Know This Isn’t Abstract
I used to be an EMT.
And there’s a moment—when someone has just passed—where everything fake leaves the room.
No politics.
No faith debates.
No Facebook arguments that were definitely going to change someone’s mind.
Just truth.
I’ve stood in rooms where parents begged over children for one more chance.
I’ve watched friends collapse beside friends, finally saying the words they thought they had more time to say.
And every single time, the same things poured out:
“They never knew how much I loved them.”
“I thought I’d have more time.”
“Why didn’t I say it sooner?”
Not once—not once—did anyone say,
“I wish I’d been pettier.”
“I wish I’d argued harder in the comment section.”
That truth rearranges you.
And Then I Felt It Personally
Years later, I felt it again lying beside my mom, holding her as she took her last breath.
In that moment:
- the clock didn’t matter
- the calendar didn’t matter
- the to-do list didn’t matter
Only presence did.
Only love did.
Once you’ve been there, you don’t treat time like a suggestion anymore.
Because it won’t just be them.
It will be us.
So Maybe We’re Looking at 2026 All Wrong
Maybe 2026 isn’t a fresh, unlimited buffet of time.
Maybe it’s a borrowed plate.
At 59 years old, I’m watching people drop like flies—parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, even children.
And I keep thinking:
If they were given the chance to come back…
If they were handed one more ordinary Tuesday…
How differently would they live?
What arguments would suddenly feel ridiculous?
What grudges would quietly die of neglect?
How much softer would their reactions be—
especially in traffic?
Hope Is Not Just a Feeling — It’s a Responsibility
Every new day is an invitation someone else didn’t receive.
Some people who hoped for change never got another chance to live it.
If we are still here—still breathing, still choosing—that’s not just hope.
That’s responsibility.
Not to fix the whole world.
But to stop adding more chaos to it.
The world doesn’t need louder opinions.
It needs truer lives.
Where the Ache Finally Finds Its Answer
That hunger to see the world change—that ache to see society be better—will never be satisfied by yelling at a screen and refreshing the comments like it’s going to suddenly work.
It doesn’t begin out there.
It begins when we step forward and do the harder, quieter work of changing ourselves.
And when we do, something shifts.
Our perception changes.
Our reactions soften.
Our days feel fuller.
We realize we were rushing past the life we were trying to fix.
So This Year, I’m Not Making Resolutions
I’m not carrying a checklist into 2026.
I’m carrying:
- awareness
- attentiveness
- responsibility for my responses
- compassion with a spine
- patience with process
I’m carrying the understanding that every little thing is a step closer to a larger gain.
How I speak.
How I pause.
How I choose—especially when it would be easier not to.
Because the world doesn’t change through grand declarations.
It changes through small, faithful, honest choices—
made daily, quietly, imperfectly.
And yes… even in traffic.
A Benediction for the Year Ahead
May we stop polishing what needs examining.
May we laugh at ourselves while we’re learning.
May we pause more than we react.
And may we remember that being human is not a failure—
it’s the whole point.
Here’s to fewer resolutions, more awareness,
and giving ourselves grace when we forget all of this
the very next time someone cuts us off like a raccoon with a stolen driver’s license.
With love, presence, a very honest self-check, and prayers for a very soulful New Year,2026…
Tina N. Campbell | Scribed in Light
Scribed In Light 
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