What is important to do now so that the year can be thankful for

The year doesn't come to an end suddenly. It passes slowly, almost imperceptibly, like a day that hesitates for a long time to become evening. And in this passing there's a strange feeling: as if time doesn't demand an account from us, but rather awaits a conversation.

We're used to summing things up—counting, comparing, weighing. But years, like people, don't open up to arithmetic. They open up to attention.

The first thing to do now is to stop. Not to evaluate yourself, but to hear what this year was really like. Not in the events, but in the sensations. In the way my breathing changed. In the way fatigue sometimes set in—and with it, clarity.

The year teaches quietly. It doesn't shout its lessons. It leaves them in the pauses—between decisions, in doubts, in late-night reflections, when you suddenly realize you'll never be the same again.

It's important to embrace change, even if it comes uninvited. Some losses are liberating. Some delays are protection. Some disappointments are a form of maturation. We rarely give thanks for this, but this is where inner freedom begins.

It's also worth remembering people. Those who were there. And those who have passed away, leaving a mark—sometimes painful, but honest. Time passes through us through people, and each of them was a part of this year.

And, perhaps most importantly, thank yourself. Without rapture or reproach. For your patience. For your doubts. For not always knowing the answers, but for keeping going.

The year doesn't demand perfection from us. It asks only one thing: to be lived. If you were attentive to life, if you stopped sometimes, if you didn't close your heart—that's enough.

And then gratitude becomes not a gesture of farewell, but a quiet acceptance of the path taken. With such acceptance, the next year comes not as a test, but as a continuation of the conversation.