On the week that most of London and the South were covered in snow last December, I took myself away to a secluded cabin deep in a forest within Sussex. Surrounded by ice concealed greenery and an idyllic frozen lake, I nestled in the cabin with my journal, Bible and countless thoughts for a number of days. 

For many, the end of the year brings with it an opportunity to slow down, to de-clutter and to determine whether the past year has been a good one.

And as I sat with my monthly wrap-ups, lessons learnt and lack of noteworthy milestones and achievements, I noticed the dichotomy between how I felt and how I hoped to feel, so I asked myself: what makes a good year? 

It was also around this time that I decided to come off of social media; not indefinitely, but just for a season. The foreknowing that my feeds would soon be filled with friends and strangers showcasing their year’s achievements was content I didn’t want to consume. 

Not because I don’t love celebrating the wins of others – I always make an effort to choose awe over jealousy – but because I’ve always had a troubling relationship with achievement and this is something that’s heightened at the end of the year.