2026, for me, isnāt a year that needed announcing. I havenāt wanted a trumpet blast and I didnāt want reinvention. I just wanted a soft, realistic continuation of 2025.
We spent New Yearās Eve with our dear friends and saw in 2026 watching the amazing fireworks display in London. We sat in the comfort of our sitting room, relaxed, and mellow. We drank champagne and chatted into the early hours. That was all the excitement I needed. When Big Ben had struck midnight the New Year had arrived, just another day! Perfect!
January the 1st slipped in under low skies with the little bit of sunlight pacing itself to last as long as possible! I have made no resolutions, no dramatic declarations, no overt gestures! This isnāt me being pessimistic. Iāve become more discerning! I want less noise and more listening, a quiet gratitude, a calm stepping forward into another year rather than a giant leap into failed resolutions and unrealistic expectations.
I want the arrival of 2026 to be about contentment. Iām more confident that life doesnāt have to be filled with enforced enthusiasm, remaining forever hopeful that the next year will be better. Is this maturity or have I become a cynic? Perhaps itās an age thing, but not an old age thing! Just able to reap the rewards of a long, fulfilled life. Right?
Time alone will tell.
The New Year has brought with it a cold arctic blast. Weāve had snow and minus temperatures for the last few days. The lane at the bottom of our garden is an ice rink so canāt do my usual daily walks. But I am snug and warm, gazing into a fire burning brightly.
The fire has settled, flames folding and unfolding, all soft gold and amber at the edges, white hot at its heart. It burns with a quiet assurance and an unhurried rhythm. As I sit, mesmerised, the fire suddenly gathers itself and flares up with a sharp intake of breath before sending licks of flames shooting upwards. The hearth is crowned with bright light, the flames brushing the stones as if testing its limits before settling back into a steady glow.
Outside the window snow lies thick and soundless, muting the world with its shades of grey and white, almost theatrical, waiting for the audience applause. Inside the warmth gathers pace, creeping in politely, not rushing. It unfurls into the room, seeping into walls, furniture, floorboards, all those nooks and crannies that hold onto the cold. Gradually I feel my shoulders relaxing as my body yields to the unarguable comfort of it all. The crackle and sighs of the flames work like a lullaby. Thoughts lose their sharp edges and become less demanding. The room grows heavy with heat and calm. My eyelids thicken. Staying awake has begun to feel like an act of mild defiance rather than intentional.
Choosing a smooth crossing from 2025 into 2026, with no forced optimism and no self motivated speeches, feels right. It was never about standing still, avoiding the New Year, just welcoming it in sensibly, not with a bang, but a nod, which feels entirely appropriate. š
Jenny Burrell 