It’s not as cynical as it sounds. Really. There’s something so freeing about the holiday we call New Year, New Year’s Eve, or just The End of That Wicked Year.
The expectations for New Year’s Eve are so minimal. Drink, possibly-fireworks-probably-just-on-television, a smack on the lips perhaps. Not so much that you can’t just go to bed early and say “Happy New Year” and make pancakes in the morning.
After the hectic days of the religious and semi-pagan holidays, Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanza if you will, family visits, babies and dogs and snow and travel and disruptions of schedules to the point that you welcome going back to work, the mini blip of New Year’s Eve is, well, a mini blip of light and champagne.
Some people are going out for big blow-out parties, I suppose. Good on ya! I haven’t been to one for years, being of a certain staid nature by now. (I’m actually reading a novel set in rural England in the ’30s where they have big parties and skating and merriment, along with vicious family intrigue. Oh, those were the days. Except for sexual repression. And Nazis.)
Do you go out and celebrate? For years now we’ve done home parties; if we’re skiing we watch fireworks and have a toddy but mostly it’s very low-key. The food extravaganza is hopefully over. The new year drink is a little champagne, and a nap.
So my wish for you this New Year’s Eve — a moment of light and love as the year ends, and a new one begins. May the best of times be on your horizon and a smile on your sweet lips. ❤️