I am ditching the well-meaning New Year resolutions.
Come this January, what if we don’t begin again, or erase the past, or make impossible commitments? Instead, what if we continue to build on the work we’ve started—strengthen what’s working, trust ourselves, and recognise that we’re already on the right path?
As I sit in the liminal space where the old year is fast fading and the new year is beckoning, the compulsion to audit my year is strong. Like an accountant, I tally debits and credits, return on investment, the depreciation of my life.
And it doesn’t add up.
I don’t think it’s because I am a poor accountant, which I am. I am trying to reduce my life experiences to a balance sheet. I am assuming that the quality of my life can be counted. I’m assuming control. Assuming I can fully grasp the complex, sacred, interdependent nature of my life with all of life—of the world within me and the world beyond.
What will emerge if I stop dissecting my life and start seeing it as a whole—something more than the sum of its parts?
Working on what works feeds my confidence. A more confident version of myself moves with greater ease and, in turn, affects the conditions of my ecosystem. My brain, long poised for threats, may recalibrate toward possibility and agency. I begin to experience myself and the system as interconnected, understanding that strengths do not exist in isolation—nor do weaknesses. By tending to what works, I also begin to influence what does not.
What if life interruptions have left us seemingly bereft of all resources?
As I reflect more deeply on this inquiry of building from strengths, I am painfully aware that for many of my countrymen and women in Sri Lanka, there has been profound loss in the aftermath of Cyclone Ditwah—loss of lives, homes, livelihoods, and the sense of safety that holds daily life together. When so much has been wiped out, the idea of building on what exists carries a very different weight, and I approach it with care.
I have had my life rearranged by loss, but I am acutely aware that I do not know the kind of loss experienced in the aftermath of such natural disasters. Yet, I hold one tentative belief: that nothing ever truly returns to zero. Even in devastation, something remains—though it may not look like strength or resource in any familiar form.
And sometimes, we do not need to experience something as visible or catastrophic as a cyclone to feel as though parts of our lives have been erased. Illness and endings. Betrayals, and burnout. There are quieter events that undo us just as thoroughly, if less visibly. I recognise that I cannot speak for the lives and experiences of others, so I offer a gentler inquiry instead. Not one that rushes towards recovery or resilience, but one that asks, patiently and honestly: what is still here? And from that place, however fragile or incomplete it may feel, what might we begin to recover, and what might we slowly uncover?
How can we build on what we already have?
What we have, our strengths and resources maybe different for each of us. As I reflect on what resources and strengths that are my foundations for next year, I invite you to reflect on the different ways you can build on what you have.
Practices that hold us
Each of us has simple but life-giving practices that endure and help us return to our essence, even when our lives feel upended. It might be the call you receive from a friend checking in, or the one you make. It might be sharing your time or skills with a neighbour who needs help. Or it is keeping your prayer practice close.
These practices remind us that there is still much left in us, even when, on the surface, it looks like there isn’t.
For myself, I will continue the small but consistent practices that already hold me—those that nourish me from within and radiate beyond me. This year, I focused on grounded practices that support my physical health at an everyday level: drinking at least a litre of water as soon as I wake up; maintaining resistance training; writing on the go, capturing thoughts without waiting for perfection, as a way of nurturing the rebirth of my writing practice. Saying yes to attending events that feel like inconveniences—but nurture community—has become part of these practices, alongside the small contributions of time, kindness, or finances that continue to matter to me.
These micro practices form the foundation I build my day on. How about you?
Beautiful Question prompt:
What am I already doing—consistently, imperfectly, but with integrity—that I want to strengthen rather than replace?
What holds when everything else falls away?
Capacities that you grow into
When we suffer a setback or a life interruption, we might feel incapacitated in the immediate aftermath. When you have a moment to get your breath back, and your mind quietens down, your body will remember who you were and still are. Ease into the wisdom and skills you already have. Call upon your inner knowing from previous times you faced and navigated disease and chaos, to guide you again. The skills you honed and excelled in are in your very being. Re-employ and redeploy them in this coming year. The mindset of working even with bare bones, uncovering what is underneath the chaos that has always been there, liberates us from the despair of reaching for things that are not yet available. We work with what we have and we build on them.
In that same spirit, this year I once again found my stoic-like nature that has always shown its side of the face when the going gets slow. Joy is the common thread that runs through when serving tea in my eclectic and beautiful china with like-minded girlfriends, to spending Sunday lunch with my parents and family, to the unexpected forays into a jungle or discovering an orange hibiscus flower larger than my face. I despair at my nervousness prior to a public event, even after 25 years of this work. Now I welcome what seemed like debilitating qualities as my cue to freshness, commitment, and caring about how I show up in my work. Reawakening my dormant writing voice reminds me that even our skills and capacities have seasons of flourishing and withering.
All of these capacities feed the slow-burn skill and practice of leaning into equanimity in the face of change.
Beautiful Question prompt:
What remains intact within us, even when the external world has changed?
What capacities have been quietly forming in me this year, and how do I want to keep cultivating them?
Relationships to continue to nurture
The most profound continuity after a life interruption is the community that rises up to support us. They may be family, friends, neighbours, or strangers, moved by each other’s humanity, to be there for each other. Our human mind can imagine what it might be like if we were also in the same place. With empathy and compassion, we reach out. And if you are on the receiving end of this love, you don’t have to think of this as charity. Practice gratitude by paying it forward. Even when you feel that you have nothing to give, you will find a deep well that you can dip into. You can love. You can open your heart. You can extend your hand. Be a friend, be like family. Nurture these corners of your heart and life that hold your relationships.
Every year on this earth, and every life situation, reminds me that my identity is shaped by the different relational roles I play in my life. The daughter role runs deep and is a role that I inhabit more and more as both my parents and I grow older. Wife, widow, partner, ex-wife roles are always present, layered by sister, aunt, friend. I nourish these and I am nourished by them. The role of a coach is where I continue to show up and share myself with the wider world. My clients teach me every day. And their trust and vulnerability awe me, allowing me to be reborn in each interaction.
These relationships and ecosystems I will continue to tend to in the coming year. How will you tend to your ecosystem?
Beautiful Question Prompt
Which relationships, spaces, or ecosystems am I already part of—and how do I want to show up more intentionally within them?
Who stands with us when rebuilding feels impossible to imagine alone?
Blessings on the threshold to the New Year
January 1st does not have to be a reset point, but a threshold—a place where what has been built meets what is possible, and where continuation itself becomes a meaningful act of leadership and self-trust.
May all beings be happy.
