Growing up in Korea, I took it for granted that I got the “Happy New Year” feeling twice. Even if my New Year’s resolution doesn’t go well after January 1, I still get a second chance to refresh myself: Lunar New Year, which falls between late January and mid-February.
Lunar New Year is an even longer holiday than January 1. To celebrate, families gather and share a table full of dishes and almost always eat tteok-guk (rice-cake soup), a traditional must-have that carries wishes for a new year. In Korea, there’s a saying that you become one year older after that bowl — an edible way of turning the page into a new year.
I first realized that “New Year” doesn’t always mean the first two months of a year when I visited Chicago to see a high school friend. While looking for local events, I found a small celebration hosted by a Lao restaurant for Lao New Year, Lao Pi Mai, in April. I had never imagined that a new year could begin in late spring, but in many parts of South and Southeast Asia, New Year is celebrated around mid-April, often tied to seasonal changes and its traditional calendars. It goes by different names — such as Songkran in Thai, Thingyan in Myanmar and Khmer New Year in Cambodia.
Later, I learned about another New Year through a casual conversation in my lab. When I asked my friend whether they had eaten lunch, she told me she was on her fasting period before Hindu New Year, often called Nav Varsha, around late March. For me, March already feels like a beginning, even it’s not a New Year, because the Korean school year starts in March. But fasting around New Year in Hindu traditions provoked me to think that it’s not merely about “not eating” — it’s a way to practice self-discipline, purification and mental reset as a new cycle begins.
By then, I thought I’d found enough New Years. But the list kept growing. It was before Thanksgiving holidays. During a conversation about holiday plans, a colleague mentioned he would also celebrate Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, which usually occurs in September or October. I used to think of this time of a year — framed by Thanksgiving in the U.S. and Chuseok in Korea — as a harvest season: a time to celebrate what we’ve gathered, and brace for winter. But in Jewish tradition, it’s also a season of self-examination and renewal, marked by a 10-day period of reflection.
At this point, I stopped caring about the dates and started noticing something more deeply felt. Each culture has its own reason, meaning and rituals for New Year. But the feeling of encountering a “new year” seems universal: Looking back on what we’ve done, admitting what we regret, saying goodbye to parts of ourselves we’ve outgrown and giving ourselves an opportunity to begin again.
Learning that there are many New Years around the world during my time in the U.S. hasn’t only expanded my general knowledge. It has also offered something quieter and more personal: more chances to start over.
Living inside one culture may give you one set of “new beginnings.” But once you look beyond it, you start to notice how many chances the world offers. You can choose to claim a few for yourself or create your own. The first quarter of this year has already passed — how has 2026 been for you so far? If you feel disappointed with a failed resolution, another “new beginning” might be closer than you think. Or you can also choose today.
Every moment can be the start of a new year as long as you’re willing.
Further reading: After I searched to double-check some dates, I found even more New Year celebrations — like the Islamic New Year around June and Enkutatash, Ethiopian New year, celebrated in mid-September around the end of the rainy season. If you’re curious, this article has a great overview.
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