Goodbye 2025...Hello 2026

2025 was one of those years that refused to be summarised neatly.

It moved fast, crossed borders, stretched routines, and gently reminded us that life doesn’t slow down just because we ask it to. Between airports and living rooms, celebrations and goodbyes, fairways and family conversations, the year unfolded fully — messy, meaningful, and memorable.

Why I write an Annual Letter

I write an annual letter not because the year was extraordinary —

but because ordinary years slip away far too easily.

The letter is my way of pausing the blur.

Of noticing what actually happened — the travel, the people, the conversations, the losses, the quiet wins.

Things that don’t show up in calendars, but shape who we become.

It’s also a gentle audit of life.

Not of achievements, but of attention:

• Where did my time go?

• Who did I show up for?

• What did I learn, unlearn, and quietly carry forward?

Over time, these letters have become less about reporting and more about remembering. Less about highlights and more about meaning.

And finally, I write them because years pass — parents age, children grow, friendships evolve — and memory is unreliable. Writing fixes moments in place, imperfectly but honestly.

The annual letter isn’t a performance.

It’s a pause.

One I hope to keep taking, year after year.