Time is something we made up.
Of course, it matters, YES, but shouldn’t we celebrate each new day like it’s the beginning of something that is potentially wonderful?
Or at the very least, important.
All this to say, I don’t stress out about New Year’s Eve. In fact, it’s a holiday that can feel like a whole lot of pressure AND THEN YOU START COUNTING DOWN. Which makes me want to shy away from it entirely, actually.
Maybe it’s because I grew up on my mom’s New Year’s Eve story, but I’ve never EVER wanted to be in Times Square on New Year’s Eve. She was there as a young teenager and when the ball dropped, some drunk stranger grabbed her and kissed her hard. On the mouth!
I might be blending two stories here, but I think she was pretty terrified that she was pregnant afterwards. Or maybe that was after the first time she french kissed a boy. But whatever the case, I think it’s safe to say that sex education was somewhat lacking in New England while my mom was in grade school.
Five children later, she’s learned a thing or two, I’m sure.
Anyway, last night was spent in quiet gratitude. Okay, that makes it sound like I hung out with a bunch of monks and didn’t tempt them to break their vow of silence even once or something, which is not the case. I made dinner–tried my hand at french onion soup, and it wasn’t half bad, either–and I marveled over the closeness and gold of the moon while sitting next to someone I love.
And I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.
Now I know I must sound like a broken record at times, but three years ago was a far cry from the scene I just described. What I mean to say is that I find the differences astonishing.
There was me, yes, but that’s about the only common denominator. And I surely wasn’t feeling content. I was wanting to crawl out of my skin. I was writing music by myself in a big and, at the time, desolate church in Pennsylvania. I was taking breaks from time to time to call someone who had left. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I had a hard time not calling him. Especially on a night that is traditionally reserved for togetherness.
And he was at a party.
I was floored by it. By his seemingly doing-just-fine-ness while I was hanging by a thread.
But that thread is made of strong stuff, it turns out.
I am not there anymore, but sometimes I look down at my hands and still find that thread. That thread reminds me that, were there to be some more terrible and unforeseen changes to shake my snow globe world up once again, I’d be okay.
I mean, I’d still be me, and that’s a powerful thing to realize. That you’re you, even when some very important others have left.
This new year feels like a gift.
I hope to spend many more nights marveling at the moon.
I hope I do so with the same guy I did so yesterday.
I have more than a few things that I want to accomplish this year, too. Tangible things. Sell-able things. And then other things, too, that I don’t mention too loudly, because the same dreams that are bold and beautiful things in the privacy of your own heart can turn brittle and ridiculous under the harsh light of conversation.
Doesn’t mean they won’t happen, folks. Just means there’s a time for most everything and most everything is worth waiting for. Oh, and also this: the unexpected HAPPENS. So does the expected. Here’s to 2013 being full of good things you don’t expect and do expect, alike.