There is an old saying: “Don’t hide from others what God already knows.” At its core, it means being honest with oneself. When the New Year arrives, this tradition reaches its peak. Because what most of us carry in our hearts is more or less the same—but only during these few days of the year do we dare to say it out loud. We wish for health, we wish for happiness, a little peace, and if possible, plenty of abundance. Effort-free would be perfect, of course, though we rarely say that part aloud. God knows; our wishes are big, our expectations cautious. We hope, but immediately add a small disclaimer: “Whatever is for the best.” On the one hand, we believe in miracles; on the other, we take precautions against disappointment.
The New Year is, in a way, the official holiday of this contradiction.
With every new calendar beginning, humanity allows itself to hope again—seriously, sincerely. When the date changes, it feels as if the universe itself has changed shifts. And yet, in the back of our minds, the same doubt lingers: “Last year started like this too.” Still, we don’t give up on hoping. Because hope is the simplest signature a person can give to themselves: I’m still here, and I’m still trying.
The most human—and perhaps the funniest—part comes when those wishes don’t come true. The culprit is always obvious: the year that just ended. “It was a very hard year anyway.” “There was no abundance this year.” “2025 was problematic from the start.” Rarely does anyone ask, “Could it be that I didn’t actually do much for these wishes?” The departing year is blamed, the new year is absolved as a clean slate. The ritual is complete, consciences are eased, hope is refreshed.
Welcoming the New Year is, in itself, a display of motivation. Plans are made, lists are drawn up, goals are politely lined up. We love loading great meaning onto a year that hasn’t yet been lived. Because more than fulfilled wishes, it is the very act of wishing that keeps us alive. Hope is humanity’s oldest habit—one we refuse to abandon. Calendars change; we don’t change much. Still, we want to believe.
Even if we don’t hide from others what God already knows, we still don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Perhaps that is the point. Not knowing creates space for hope. And human beings need hope. That’s why a new year arrives, and we wish again. If it doesn’t work out, we blame the year that’s gone; if it does, we take some credit for ourselves. Either way, we go on. Because hope is the one ritual humans cannot give up.
Happy New Year.
