By Shellie Miller Farrugia
In South Florida, the New Year doesn’t tiptoe in quietly. It arrives fully awake, sun blazing, humidity already making plans, and neighbors out walking dogs before breakfast like it’s a competitive sport. While much of the country rings in January with snow boots and scraped windshields, we do it in flip-flops, debating whether today counts as “cool enough” to justify long sleeves we’ll regret by noon.
We live in a place people escape to when they need a break from reality. Which makes it slightly ironic that we still feel the New Year’s pressure to reset, refresh, and reinvent ourselves. Even here, under blue skies and palm trees, January whispers, “So… how’d you do last year?”
This is a community that stays busy. We volunteer, attend school events, support local causes, and somehow manage to see the same people at the gym, the grocery store, and the soccer field all in the same day. Families are close, friendships run deep, and everyone seems to have at least three group chats they muted but didn’t leave because they might miss something important. Or funny. Or both.
The New Year traditionally comes with resolutions, most of which are wildly optimistic. We vow to eat healthier (starting after one last dinner out), exercise more (once the schedule calms down), and spend less time on our phones (right after this quick scroll). By February, we’ll be negotiating with ourselves like seasoned diplomats. And that’s okay. Around here, we understand balance. We schedule workouts and still stop for coffee. We plan carefully and then linger anyway.
There’s something endearing about how seriously we take not taking ourselves too seriously. We complain about traffic while sitting in it next to someone we know. We insist we’re too busy, yet somehow manage to show up for fundraisers, birthdays, games, and each other. We laugh often, sometimes at ourselves, sometimes because if we didn’t, we’d cry — and occasionally, we do that too.
Because the truth is, the New Year isn’t only light and laughter. It also carries a quiet pause. A moment where we notice how much has changed. Kids who seemingly grew inches overnight (they grow fast when we’re not looking). Parents who move a little slower. Friends we wish were still sitting at the table. Even in a place where the seasons don’t shift much, time always does.
That’s when the humor softens and the gratitude settles in. When we realize how lucky we are — not just for where we live, but for who we share it with. For the familiar faces, the shared routines, the community that feels like more than just a location on a map.
So as we turn the calendar and step into another year, maybe we don’t need dramatic resolutions or grand declarations. Maybe it’s enough to keep showing up. To laugh loudly, care deeply, and give ourselves a little grace along the way.
Here’s to another year of sunshine, connection, and doing the best we can — even when that means carrying a sweater all day we never needed, and loving this place and these people just a little more than we did last year.