Between What Was, What Could Be & What Might Be

It is that time of year again,
the time when everything seems to slow down, as if the world itself is taking a deep breath while we crawl toward the end of yet another year.
For me, these final days always bring contemplation.
They gently ... and sometimes not so gently ... invite me to look back.
I think about the things I wanted to achieve and didn’t. I think about the people who are no longer part of my life, those who passed away, those who moved away, and those who slowly faded out as our lives shifted in different directions. No drama, no conflict, just change doing what change does best.

This year, that contemplative feeling feels heavier, more layered than usual.
Over the past year, my husband and I have found ourselves facing questions we had quietly pushed aside for a long time, mostly because we didn’t quite know what to do with them.
We are creeping closer to our mid-sixties now, and during this year we unexpectedly lost people from our own age group. That has a way of sharpening your awareness.

Suddenly, conversations you once avoided start demanding attention.
The biggest question we’ve been wrestling with is this: we live in a beautiful country that has given us almost everything that was ever on our wish list, how we live, where we live, and the life we have built.
But… yes, there is a but ... A BIG one.

We live in Hungary.
It is often said that Hungarian is one of the most difficult languages to learn. Now, I speak four languages, Dutch, German, English, and French, so I confidently thought,
“Yeah, yeah… I’ll manage.”

Reality, however, had other plans.
We’ve learned words, small sentences, and the basics, but having a real conversation is another story altogether. Something as simple as explaining a car problem can turn into a mind-boggling performance involving frantic hand gestures, creative facial expressions, and sounds that probably shouldn’t exist in any language.
Translator apps help, thankfully, but they also highlight something unavoidable:
we will never truly communicate here on the level we did in countries where we spoke the language fluently. And since most people here speak only Hungarian, that gap remains.

So we started discussing our options.
What do we really want? What do we feel is missing? What are we trying to accomplish? Would moving back to Ireland help? The Netherlands? Somewhere else in Europe where language wouldn’t be such a constant barrier?

We even put our house on the market.
But with every viewing, our doubts grew stronger. Are we doing the right thing? Are we so focused on what we don’t have that we are overlooking everything we do?
Eventually, the question became so overwhelming that we took the house off the market again.
Before making any decisions, we needed clarity, real clarity, about which road we want to take.

And that brings me right back to where this blog started: contemplation.
Because of the people we’ve lost, and because of some serious scares within the family, we decided to stop skimming the surface and dig deeper within ourselves than we ever had before.
What we discovered wasn’t what we expected.

We realized that what you want is not always what is possible,
and yes ... I KNOW we all know that,
but there is a huge difference between knowing and truly realizing that,
but back to my story ... we came to realize that what truly matters to us is already here!

Hungary may not be perfect, but neither is anywhere else.
I wouldn’t be surprised if we decide to move again one day, but if we do, it won’t be away from this country, it will simply be to a place that requires less physical work and maintenance.

Still, I know that in these last days of the year, many other thoughts will pass through my mind.
How much the world has changed, and continues to change.
The growing intolerance toward one another, which I find utterly flabbergasting.
The self-absorption that seems amplified on social media.
And, of course, the friends and family we’ve lost, not just recently, but over time.
We are now older than some of them ever got to be.

That makes one thing painfully clear: getting older is a privilege. Not a burden.
Not something to apologise for. And certainly not something to be ashamed of, no matter what social media trends might suggest.
Personally, I don’t like those surgically created faces with only one expression … bland.
I like faces that tell stories.
Wrinkles should be worn with pride. They exist because of everything we’ve been through and survived. They say, “Been there. Done that.”
I’ve earned every single grey hair and wrinkle, and I intend to honor them.

And then… something magical happens.
Day one of the New Year arrives. January 1st, 2026. Overnight, the heaviness disappears.
I am suddenly a new person, optimistic, energised, and overflowing with ideas and plans.
It’s as if I threw out an old notebook and opened a brand-new one,
its pages still blank and waiting to be filled with dreams, hopes, and anticipation.

Sometimes I catch myself and think, “You okay?” Because honestly … this emotional switch is not normal.
But then I shrug it off and enjoy every minute of it.

I know the anticipation will slowly fade, and reality will come knocking again.
And that’s okay.
Reality is what shapes the life we are living. Dreams simply give it direction.

So work on your dreams.
Make time to enjoy the good moments and the good days, you’ve earned those too.
Fill your notebook with ideas and hopes, but don’t fill it only with your own. Leave some blank pages to help write the stories of others.

Keep your heart open. Expand the circle of people you interact with.
Don’t avoid someone because you don’t know what to say, sometimes sitting silently at the same table is enough to make someone feel less alone.
Make the conscious effort to visit those who have loved and lost and are slowly drifting out of sight.
Because time does not fill the hole left behind by loss. It may cover it, like a boarded-up window, but the hole is still there.
Work toward your dreams, and whenever you can, help someone else move closer to theirs. That way, we all gain something.

And before I close, I owe you an apology.
This blog jumps around. It wanders. It mirrors the chaos in my head at the end of yet another year.
But this is me … unfiltered, reflective, human … standing at the edge of one year and peering into the next.


So instead of a wish, let me leave you with this:

May the coming year gently remind you of what truly matters.
May your dreams feel reachable, your heart stay open, and your connections deepen.
May you notice the quiet moments just as much as the loud ones,
and may you allow yourself to grow older with grace, humor, and pride.

And on that note, all that’s left for me to say is this:
I wish you a beautiful Christmas and a New Year filled with meaning, connection, and hope.