The year of unfolding?
By Sharla Gorder
The year is winding down. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
This year, 2025, was supposed to be The Year of Unfolding. (Yes, I name my years.) I’ve kept a journal for as long as I can remember, and at the top of January first’s entry is a title meant to set the tone for the coming months: The Year of Creative Usefulness, The Year of the Published Book, The Year of the Mellow Mind, The Year of What Is, The Year of Equanimity, The Year of the Lamb—and finally, The Year of Unfolding.
I find value and inspiration in setting intentions, be they concrete, as in publishing a book; spiritual, finding composure in equanimity; or playful, using a tiny toy lamb I found on the beach as a totem, representing gentleness and self-acceptance.
I like seeing the year’s title as I open my journal every morning, reminding me of the purpose I have chosen. It invites me to check in with myself. Are my actions lining up with my values?
Most years, by the time the holidays roll around, I can see the fruits of my intentions as they have ripened over the preceding eleven months. But this year it’s a little more complicated. The year that was supposed to unfold with renewed purpose and creativity — like those old Rand McNally road maps that would open up a world of possibilities — still seems folded up in a thick rectangle on the dash.
I had set myself a gentle goal for 2025 — to suspend striving and trying to manipulate events — and let things unfold organically. Last year, The Year of the Published Book, while exciting and validating, was utterly exhausting. It wasn’t so much the writing of the book that wore me out; it was the marketing of the thing. It was a busy, busy holiday season.
I knew to expect a lull after such an all-consuming project. I wanted to go easy on myself, to allow myself to slow down and enjoy life without an agenda, to see where life would lead me once I stopped flailing.
Hence, The Year of Unfolding. Initially, I imagined that Rand McNally road map opening up to reveal new and interesting destinations. And then I took the metaphor into nature and imagined a beautiful pink Stargazer Lily blossoming right before my eyes — elegantly unfolding petal by petal. I even watched time-lapsed videos of flowers blooming on YouTube. So beautiful, so inspiring…
So unlike real life. 2025 was less a flower garden and more a battleground. Fortunately, there have been no casualties, but the assaults were relentless: health challenges, family upheavals, world chaos. This was not the “unfolding” I had in mind.
And yet.
Look at me.
I’m still here.
And I am a better person than I was a year ago. I am more compassionate. I am 11 months wiser. I am gentler.
Perhaps I have evolved. Perhaps I’m not still folded up on the dash. Perhaps everything transpired just as it was meant to. Perhaps this was a year for doubting so I could rediscover that mustard seed of faith inside me; for falling down so I could be helped up by loving arms; for struggling so that I could eventually wear myself out and get some rest.
I’m tired. “Unfolding” is not for the faint of heart, I’ve learned. What I had envisioned as a sweet and fragrant unfurling of rose petals, was more like trying to do the breaststroke in quicksand. I’m stronger because of it, but still covered in mud.
Maybe 2026 will be The Year of the Warm Shower. Ahh.
