What Did 2020 Teach Us?
Ruiz begins by acknowledging the year just passed as a threshold moment—one that "gave us a lot of teachings that help us to go inside ourselves and push us to change our priorities." Rather than dismissing 2020 as purely destructive, he frames it as an educational force. The year brought both "tragic ones" and "good ones" events, and while the losses are real—"we lose a lot of people and we carry tapping with us"—the teaching embedded in that loss is what matters most.
This is not spiritual bypassing, but rather a clear-eyed acknowledgment: grief is real, pain is real, but so is the opportunity they create for internal work. Ruiz suggests that 2020's intensity was not random hardship, but a catalyst to reexamine what we truly value and how we organize our lives.
Why God's Strength Matters More Than Our Circumstance
Central to Ruiz's vision is the idea that "god is strong enough to face whatever challenge life brings to us." This is not a promise that bad things won't happen, but a reassurance about the resources available to us when they do. The framing is crucial: the strength that can face challenges is not diminished by those challenges. It exists independent of circumstance.
This connects to what Ruiz calls the fundamental choice we all face: "we don't have to be the victims of the circumstances or the villas created more problems." In other words, we are not passive recipients of events; we are agents who decide how we respond. Victimhood is optional—it is a choice we make when we surrender our agency to external events.
The Hero's Path: Standing Up After Being Hurt
Ruiz's central image is stark and clear: "we can be the heroes who every time that life hurt us we stand up and keep going." This is the essence of his message for the transition into 2021. Heroism, in this framework, is not the absence of pain or the avoidance of harm. It is the willingness to be wounded and then rise again—repeatedly.
The hero does not deny the wound. The hero acknowledges it, carries it, and continues forward. This is what separates agency from denial: the hero knows they have been hurt and chooses to stand anyway.
Why Faith Is Not the Same as Hope
One of the most striking moments in Ruiz's message is his distinction between hope and faith. He says, "perhaps it's time to push hope aside and focus in faith." This is not despair; it is a calibration. Hope, as commonly understood, is a wish for things to improve—a passive orientation toward the future. Faith, by contrast, is an active trust in capacity: "faith in ourselves because yes we can adapt to whatever circumstances happening around us."
Faith here is self-directed. It is not faith that things will work out, but faith that we have the capacity to work with whatever arrives. This is a subtle but profound shift. Hope waits. Faith acts.
Pain Continues; Life Continues; So Do You
Ruiz makes an elegant point: "let's remember even if we have pain life continues and give you the opportunity to make it better than before." This is not a denial of pain's reality. Rather, it is a statement about pain's scope. Pain is real and worthy of attention, but it is not the whole story. Alongside pain, life continues. And with that continuation comes genuine opportunity.
The key word is "opportunity." Ruiz does not claim that pain leads automatically to growth or that suffering ennobles. He claims that while pain exists, life does not stop—and in that continuation, we have a genuine choice to make things better than they were.
Change the World You Create
Ruiz's final imperative cuts through much spiritual discourse: "let's change the world the world that we create our own world the only one that only you can change." He is not asking listeners to fix global problems single-handedly, nor is he preaching individual responsibility as a cure for systemic injustice. Instead, he is drawing a clear circle around what is actually within your control: the internal world you create through your choices, your attention, and your responses.
This echoes his broader teaching: you cannot control what happens to you, but you can control how you relate to it. And when you change the relationship—when you change the world you generate internally—others around you will notice. Progress in yourself becomes visible to "the people who love you."
The Practice of Gratitude as Closure
Ruiz ends with an invitation to gratitude: "let's be grateful for this share we learn a lot." Gratitude here is not positive thinking or denial. It is a recognition of what has been received—the lessons, the losses, the growth, all mixed together. This gratitude is the anchor that allows a person to carry a difficult year without being crushed by it.
The message closes with a blessing: "you guys have all my blessings." This is not patronizing. It is a statement of power—an acknowledgment of the listener's capacity and a transmission of encouragement as they step into the new year.
Where to Go From Here
Ruiz's year-end message is an invitation to a specific practice: examine how you have responded to 2020's challenges. Have you acted as a victim or a hero? This is not a judgment but a question to hold. As you enter a new year, ask yourself: Where am I placing my faith? Is it in the hope that things will improve, or in my own capacity to adapt, respond, and grow? Finally, what is the "world" you are creating—not the external world, but the internal one, the one only you can change? What would it look like if you made it better than it was?
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