New Year, new… what?

It’s not just me is it?

There was a time when the only thing I had to be mad at was the whole New Year, new me tyranny – I never thought it could be replaced by something as rubbish as the current New Year, whole new level of shit situation.

The first few days of January brought with them what could politely be called a bumpy start in my world, and while it seemed things might be settling down, the days since mid-February have proven otherwise. Maybe I should have paid attention to all those social media posts warning about the impact of the new moon, a solar eclipse and the Chinese new year all happening within the same period of time.

I won’t go in to detail on the litany of the happenings, suffice it to say that while some have caused practical and/or emotional disruptions on the small and merely irksome side (if plentiful), others had a major and/or downright serious impact – some personally and some to the world at large. Frankly, I’d been hopeful of a quiet year, one in which I could reclaim some of the forward momentum lost last year. It seems clear I may’ve been overly optimistic. I’m confident if I was to share the happenings of the past two months with an old friend, she’d ask me her trademarked question: “what’s your middle name… Lucky?”

Except it’s not just me… is it. I know this for a fact because of the absolute shitshow currently happening in the Middle East. I have tried to pull back from the News – hard to do when you live with a news junkie – but I’ve managed to do so (evenings and weekends excepted) until Himself’s employers managed to display such spectacular incompetence that he’s been at home for the past week. Not that he knew it would be a week, or we’d have made plans to fill it. Instead he’s been stuck at home, waiting for the call to return on a day-to-day basis, leaving him fidgety and, unsurprisingly, watching and/or listing to as much news and analysis as could be crammed into our waking hours. To be entirely fair to him, even at my most determined, it’s a struggle to turn away when there’s missiles and bombs raining down on yet another part of the world.

I’ll be honest – I’m a tad hacked off (British understatement alert). 2026 was always going to be a year of big change for me, and not being entirely comfortable with change which is imposed upon me rather than chosen by me, has caused anxiety to raise it’s unwelcome head. Especially unwelcome as, after 25 years, I am back to job hunting – and I don’t need to tell any of you that employers don’t like to recruit people of my age, and that’s before we acknowledge prospective employees of my gender have been invisible since we turned 50 (nearly 20 years ago in my case). So… at a time when I could do with feeling at the top of my game, life and it’s multiple shit-shows are most unwelcome.

I’ve been trying to figure out what methodology to use to shove me out of my anxiety cave, ‘cos being nurturing and gentle with myself is surely not working, and I really must get myself a new job before I forget how the world of work – ahem – works.

In an attempt to spark something, I booked myself an appointment with my old hairdresser. It’s been years since he was my go-to and, I’ll be honest, my hair really misses his skills. Some years ago, I professed the firm belief the right hairdresser was more important than even a good doctor. With age and physical deterioration I’ve promoted both doctors and physical therapists, but I cannot deny I’m missing that quiet confidence a really good haircut reliably gave me.

Even worse, I’d just started to feel comfortable diving back into my preferred literary fiction books rather than the comfort reads where I have resided for the past few months. I have a significant backlog on my Kindle of challenging and weighty tomes, because all I can seem to manage (again) are mysteries or my light-hearted fun reads… and their supply is rapidly drying up.

What’s your go-to for an uplift in confidence? Do you have any procrastination killer suggestions to share?

© Debs Carey, 2026