The last day of the year: reflecting in Amman
I woke up early this morning, around 6:30, and spent a moment just staring at the ceiling of my hotel room. It's December 31st. The last day of 2025. Day 127 of my journey, with 373 days still ahead of me.
There's something about the transition between years that always makes me reflective. Perhaps it's the arbitrary nature of our calendar system - why should the turning of a digit from 5 to 6 mean anything? Yet it does. We humans love our milestones and markers.
After a quick breakfast at the hotel (decent coffee, but nothing special), I decided to take a morning walk through downtown Amman. The weather is mild today - about 12°C with partial clouds - perfect for wandering. The city is bustling but not chaotic, with people going about their Wednesday morning routines.
I found myself at a small café just off one of the main streets around 9:30. The owner smiled when I walked in, and we had a brief conversation about New Year's celebrations. He told me that while some people in Amman have big parties, many Jordanians treat it as a fairly ordinary evening - much less significant than religious holidays. I ordered mint tea and sat by the window, watching the city in motion.
Taking stock
Sitting here in this café, I've been thinking about the past 127 days. From those nervous first steps in Amsterdam to the Mediterranean warmth of southern Europe, the ancient wonders of Egypt, and now the fascinating blend of old and new in Jordan.
Petra's massive carved facades are still fresh in my mind - structures that have stood for millennia making my journey feel like the blink of an eye. Standing before the Treasury, or climbing those 800 steps to the Monastery, I felt both insignificant and connected to something much larger than myself.
And now here I am in Amman, a city where Roman columns stand beside modern apartment buildings, where ancient history and contemporary life blend seamlessly.
What have I learned so far? That's the question that keeps circling in my mind this morning. Am I any closer to understanding what I set out to discover? Am I changing, or just moving?
I know I've gotten better at adapting. Four months ago, the rainy morning in Petra might have derailed my entire day. Instead, I adjusted and ended up with some of my favorite photographs of the journey. I've learned to be more patient with transportation delays. I've gotten comfortable with the uncomfortable sensation of not knowing what comes next.
But have I fundamentally changed? I'm not sure.
Plans for the final day of 2025
After finishing my tea, I walked to the Jordan Museum, arriving just as it opened at 10:00. The museum is excellent - well-organized with informative displays covering Jordan's history from prehistoric times through the modern era. I was particularly impressed by the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit and the detailed archaeological displays.
I'm planning to spend my afternoon exploring more of the city, perhaps visiting Rainbow Street again to find a local restaurant for lunch. There's a knafeh shop the hotel receptionist recommended that I want to try.
For tonight - New Year's Eve - I don't have any grand plans. The hotel is hosting a small gathering in their restaurant with traditional food and music. That seems like a perfect way to transition into 2026 - my 50th year, which I'll celebrate in just over a week.
Tomorrow, I might try to connect with some local tech professionals. I found an interesting co-working space near Rainbow Street that hosts regular networking events. It would be fascinating to learn about Jordan's technology sector and how it compares to what I'm familiar with.
Counting down
As I sit here in the museum café writing this, I'm aware of the countdowns happening in my life:
- 373 days until I return home
- 9 days until I turn 50
- Just under 12 hours until 2026 begins
Time is such a strange construct. In Petra, I felt the weight of thousands of years. Here in the museum, surrounded by artifacts from civilizations long gone, I'm reminded again of how brief our individual stories are in the grand scheme of things.
Yet these moments matter. This cup of coffee matters. The conversation with the café owner matters. The way the winter sun is filtering through clouds over Amman's hillsides matters.
Perhaps that's what I'm slowly learning on this journey - how to be present in the counting down, how to find meaning in the momentary.
Happy New Year, from Amman.