One of the reasons that the New Year’s Eve doesn’t do anything for me is, the day after. The let down.
There’s this grandiose build up to nothing. The clock strikes 12, and there you are, standing in the exact same place you were at 11:59.
I had a great New Year’s Eve. I spent it in the meeting room with my AA family and Lars. I reflected, momentarily, on the year I am so gratefully leaving behind, and then proceeded to watch Dexter and eat chocolate chip cookies in Lars’ bed. Not too shabby if you ask me.
Ah, but, New Year’s Day. She is a different beast. The world is quiet. And, in Portland, Oregon, it was fucking cold.
I left Lars’ apartment unsure of what the day ahead of me would look like. I’d made no plans, and, had no expectations. So, I took myself book shopping, and then, to lunch where I hunkered down with a bottomless cup of coffee and my new books. And, it felt nice. For once, I was not drinking the bottomless mimosa, which in turn led to my bottomless misery.
I rang in the last year, 2012, in a walking champagne blackout. My then boss drove me home, and I woke up, my head in a vice, in all my clothes, draped like a broken flower over the side of my couch. Happy fucking New Year. This year I woke up warm and cozy next to Lars and his handsome cat. Lazed around until I felt compelled to venture out into the brave, new, and yes, unchanged world.
It’s a new day. A new year. And, this feeling in the pit of my stomach is a new one too. It’s possibility, apprehension, joy, and a little bit of fear. But, gosh-darn-it, it’s not vomit. So, I’m already light years ahead of last year. I’ll take white noise over bile any day. Truly.
So, here’s to this new beginning. Just like my new book next to my bottomless coffee cup. Open and unsure.
A new story, with 365 pages of possibility.