I love the beautiful season when it's no longer spring and not yet summer: the season of green fields.
Gustave Flaubert
Your Year of the In-Between That Holds. This is the year you stop apologizing for being mid-becoming, and the unfinished version of yourself turns out to be exactly what the year needs. That incompleteness is the feature, the good news, the whole point. Something you have believed in despite the counter-evidence, despite the long flat middle, finds one concrete proof in the early months, and that proof is enough to carry you through to summer. A piece of work lands in the hands of someone who can actually use it. A version of yourself you have been quietly growing toward shows up in a room in September and handles something beautifully. You will notice. The year rewards the belief you kept alive when the evidence was thin, and it rewards it specifically, materially, in ways you can touch.