We have a notion of time, as described by Carl Honoré in his TED talk on slowing down, that time is linear. We start at point A now. Tomorrow or next year we will arrive at point B. Points C and D lie further along the line, and we have already crossed points to which we cannot return.

January 1 marks an especially big point in our line of time. Ah, we say. There it is. There's the beginning of another year — another set of 365 (actually, 366 this year) points 24 hours apart.

But stop and think. The division between this day and the next are arbitrary. Who designated the dawn a start and the dusk an end? Who said midnight was a thing? Who told us to time our life in sprints?

Rather, keep pace. Ditch those 2016 glasses you might be wearing. Clear your head of champagne. The years are not each a dash; they're each a lap in our lifelong run.

Step back and take in all the points. We're not trying to play connect-the-dots. We're not slipping through a one-way hourglass. We're not a ball dropping to the new year. The newness of time is not an attainment; it is the feeling that arises when you look up at the night sky and forget when and where you are. Where are the stars? They're out there, everywhere. Let's not make constellations of the cosmic mess.

We're in a new year.