Ambition can be exhausting. Here’s why you should have a ‘filler year’ instead | Hannah Ewens

3 days ago 4

Time is elusive: there are entire years where nothing seems to happen, and then a day comes by where it feels as though everything happens at once. I’ve listened to conversations over the last few weeks about resolutions and goals – people want to effect change, measure their progress in targets achieved over months. This time last year, I had every intention of making 2024 add up to something substantial. But the vague futility of that human urge to make every calendar year “count” was laid bare. Nothing much happened.

I’ve since concluded that 2024 was a “filler year”. To me, this type of year is best understood by what it isn’t: a “big year”. In the latter, you might check off a bucket-list milestone. A serendipitous meeting with a future partner could change the course of your life. You could start your dream job, or take on a new role as a parent or godparent. Conversely, a big year could be shaped by profound loss or a random cruelty that redefines who you are. In comparison, a filler year feels empty, insubstantial, unmemorable.

Why was 2024 a filler year? I’d love to tell you. It wasn’t for lack of trying to make it a landmark 12 months. I worked, rested and had plenty of goals to reach, but the harder I tried to attain them, the more they seemed to elude me. I was caught in a developmental Chinese finger trap. I didn’t achieve anything notable in my personal, professional or financial life. Time had other ideas for how I should spend it, and this, coupled with an economic crisis that means I’m working harder for less reward, determined that I would not progress, would not pass go, and did not collect £200.

I could give you a few reasons for why this happened – the industries I work in are in ill health, friends have been busy with big life changes – but I reckon these are less significant than the underlying psycho-spiritual state that a filler year seems to indicate. The sensation of treading water felt like a necessary adjustment, and I came to realise that I don’t always need to be in motion. The more I leaned into the stasis of 2024, the more I begrudgingly accepted it. If anything was going to happen, it would be on the clock of some external force. I began to experiment with the idea that I don’t need to compel anything to happen, which became, in its own way, a revelation.

Takeaway food and a laptop open, with a film playing

To be clear: a filler year needn’t be a waste of precious time. I found that such a year can actually bring unexpected advantages. Rather than a breakup or monumental fuck-up prompting horrifying realisations that lead to personal growth, I learned and grew more slowly. Each small shift in my awareness felt pleasant and subtle. I was only ill once or twice. I was almost never tired, probably because I wasn’t burning all my energy. I read some books, watched some TV, and journaled a lot. I had the space for leisure time – personal time – in a way I’ve never allowed myself before. What initially seemed like achieving nothing in fact amounted to spending quality time with family and friends. One long weekend I stayed with my aunt and uncle and their children. We spent unstructured evenings drinking wine, chatting, flipping through their interior design books for inspiration on how to decorate my flat. Why don’t we do this more, we all said. The answer, obviously, is that we’re usually too busy.

I finally got on top of casual life admin – food shops at big Sainsbury’s, flatpack furniture constructed, exercise routines completed. As a result, I’m now semi-organised and feel mentally stronger, more able to tackle the year ahead. On those small, tedious days, I felt grateful for a warm bed, a meal I’d cooked myself, a great book or conversation with a friend, without having to write about it in a gratitude journal. My only regret is that I didn’t spend more time offline. That expanse of in-real-life nothing became a vacuum that content could fill, and I spent too many hours scrolling through apps.

When I described my filler year to my sister the other day, she didn’t get it. She’s not quite as internet-brained as me (though she did just have an extremely “filled” year, having just returned from travelling). “You don’t have to be achieving stuff all the time,” she said. “What you’re talking about, that is just life.” And I suppose she’s right. Did our grandma feel pressure to “level up” each year, to grow hotter, wealthier, more successful, healed and happier while on her linear march towards death? No, she spent her time repotting plants in her garden, and was inspired by the occasional opportunity to take a cooking class or buy a new beret. Life occurred during what I might have previously been inclined to call her many “filler” years.

Perhaps the phrase is flawed; perhaps what seems like “filler” is in fact the substance of a meaningful life. These periods are about learning the experience of simplicity – a quiet year spent with the people and activities we care about, rather than narrowly focusing on achievements or advancement that prove to the world we’re worthy of love. In retrospect, 2024 definitely taught me to be less driven by results. I’m ending this year having recuperated for an upcoming busy period, which will inevitably come at some point. When a friend now asks me for a life update, I’d be happy to tell there’s nothing to report, instead of “Where do I start?”