Most of the year I think of myself as an optimist but, as the new year approaches, its awful, preceding holiday extends a pair of ragged talons, hungry to rend the fabric of my cheery fa\u00e7ade: New Year\u2019s Eve.<\/p>\n
I find it odd that I don\u2019t remember any New Year\u2019s Eve celebrations from my youth \u2013 and no, not because I was wasted. I\u2019m talking about when I was but a kid: between the ages of birth to 17 or so.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t recall being part of any countdown, seeing anyone lock lips as the noisemakers and \u201cAuld Lang Syne\u201d took their respective cues from the arbitrary movement of a second hand, or even any parties. The only markers my memory has of these events are from television, movies, and comic books. Did my family even celebrate the holiday and, if so, how and when? Where the hell was I? Abed? Given the conservative nature of my upbringing, I expect this latter to be true.<\/p>\n
My curiosity about this stems from the reasoning that, if there was ever a time I might have enjoyed New Year\u2019s Eve, it would have been at this earlier age when I was oblivious to what the passing of the year can signify to those of us who ever sit in judgment of ourselves.<\/p>\n
One of my biggest problems with New Year\u2019s is the extreme anticlimactic nature of the celebration. You spend all day (some, nearly a week) getting ready for \u2026 the passing of a second. Then what?<\/p>\n
After that second, if you\u2019re me, an immense sense of emptiness descends upon you and you\u2019re left standing there feeling like you just paid $800 dollars for what turned out, after all the hype, to be a handful of Styrofoam packing peanuts; you can\u2019t even eat them.<\/p>\n
But that\u2019s not all, you also get this lovely sense of a year having passed and now it is time to weigh your accomplishments. I\u2019ve often managed to avoid the line at the last second of the year and begin my self-loathing earlier in the evening. By the time the ball drops, my stomach is already there, ready to greet it.<\/p>\n
When I was a younger man and could really pound down the sauce, I somehow never managed to get wasted enough on this holiday to avoid such thoughts, though, at any other party, any other time of the year, I would have had no problem doing so. An odd fact, that. Also, rather than being surrounded by a raucous gaggle of friends and loved ones, I was always either stuck at a very dull party or, worse, with a single, male friend, both of us desperate to find any<\/span> party – even a dull one.<\/p>\n Come the countdown, if at a party, I would sequester myself so that I could begin my new year’s irritated muttering about my lack of accomplishments without ruining other’s rather inscrutable joy at the passing of the moment.<\/p>\n If not at a party, I was more likely to realize that, thanks to the inaccuracy of my dashboard chronometer, I\u2019d missed the defining moment, along with a turn that was supposed to take I and my hapless companion to a \u201creal rager\u201d some minutes and miles back.<\/p>\n After marriage, the holiday became a little more bearable \u2013 there was still that crushing sense of failure, that build-up towards nothing \u2013 but at least I was surrounded by a group of people I had chosen to have in my life and could enjoy the moment with them or distract myself from the moment through them.<\/p>\n Finally, last year was the first New Year\u2019s Eve I can recall that was not blighted by overly negative reflection and was, instead, imbued with a sense of true and happy, personal accomplishment.<\/p>\n Certainly it was celebrated with a family that was in the process of crumbling into oblivion, and I knew it, but for the first time in my adult life, I could hear the countdown and think: \u201cBy Jove, I think you\u2019ve got it.\u201d The demons of New Year\u2019s Eve were not in residence and I left untasted the poisonous fruits of nit-picking narcissism.<\/p>\n At the time I couldn\u2019t imagine, barring some unforeseen fall from grace, ever dreading New Year\u2019s Eve again …<\/p>\n This year I\u2019m going to bed early.<\/p>\n Auld Lang Syne<\/span> Should auld acquaintance be forgot, CHORUS: And surely ye\u2019ll be your pint-stowp ! CHORUS<\/p>\n We twa hae run about the braes, CHORUS<\/p>\n We twa hae paidl\u2019d i’ the burn, CHORUS<\/p>\n And there\u2019s a hand, my trusty fiere ! Most of the year I think of myself as an optimist but, as the new year approaches, its awful, preceding holiday extends a pair of ragged talons, hungry to rend the fabric of my cheery fa\u00e7ade: New Year\u2019s Eve. I find it odd that I don\u2019t remember any New Year\u2019s Eve celebrations from my youth […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[169,168],"class_list":["post-77","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-autobiography","tag-self-pity","tag-whining"],"yoast_head":"\n
Robert Burns<\/span><\/p>\n
And never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o’ lang syne ?<\/p>\n
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We\u2019ll tak a cup o\u2019 kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.<\/p>\n
And surely I\u2019ll be mine !
And we\u2019ll tak a cup o\u2019 kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.<\/p>\n
And pu\u2019d the gowans fine ;
But we\u2019ve wander\u2019d mony a weary foot,
Sin auld lang syne.<\/p>\n
Frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar\u2019d
Sin auld lang syne.<\/p>\n
And gie’s a hand o\u2019 thine !
And we\u2019ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
For auld lang syne.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"