Happy Disappointing NYE
When reflections are depressing and resolutions seem like expectations in disquise, "being present" isn't so transcendent...
I bought a shirt with dangling dime sized silver sequins that refract light like an actual disco ball. I found a necklace with shiny silver discs. And long drop silver ball earrings. I decided to defy winter and wear white jeans with a rhinestone belt. Instead of shoes I got a disco glitter pedicure. I was going to dance in the New Year celebrating my dearest friend’s 60th birthday.
Instead I got Covid for the first time.
Not gonna lie, I had higher hopes for 2023. Heck, I had higher hopes for December. I skipped the vaccine this Fall only to get Covid at the worst time possible. I planned to get my family a dog for Christmas. Instead I got scammed by fake Corgi puppy owners. I planned to have a manuscript completed but got creatively paralyzed when I absorbed the criticism of a loved one.
I spent way too much on holiday gifts and extras, maybe in hopes of buying back the magic the holiday time used to bring. I thought of the price of the Christmas tree as I dragged it to the curb today and cursed the thousands of needles that were impossible to clean up. I threw out decorations I had for years because they seemed to have a stink of magic milk gone sour. I decided it was the last year of a “real” tree. Tradition that used to bring joy becomes a tolerated obligation when the community that honored it changes. And my community has changed--family, work, friends, church. It’s changed. And some of the old magic just doesn’t work anymore. Gone are the daily races for the advent calendar, the holy beauty of candlelight service, the excitement of Christmas morning gifts. And trying to force continued exuberance for traditions becomes a pathetic reminder of what no longer is. Even the Christmas card, a creative project tradition for me, turned into a last minute obligation that did not include the usual family consensus debate. Because the family has changed. And a card with one less member becomes a reminder of the painful change, not the tradition.
There were big milestone moments like retirement, a new job, vacation, family trips, and writing workshops. Such a gratitude list should be an antidote for year end ennui, a prescription for angry disappointment, a vaccine (if you will) for bitter self pity. But right now those moments don’t define 2023. At the moment, all I can hold is the disappointment of the now. I know, new traditions are possible. But “possible” isn’t now, the holy now, as I like to call it in my more meditative moments. That’s the problem with “being present”….when you’re truly being present and life is unpredictably rude, it must be acknowledged as such. Not all the toxic positivity gratitude lists generate can evade the pain of change or the upending of grand sparkly plans. I’ll muster up hope for 2024. Maybe tomorrow. Not now, not holy hell now.
So here I sit on New Year’s Eve watching Taylor Swift perform her life’s work so extensive she had to divide it into ERAS at age 30. At the moment she’s thanking her audience for letting her “explore genres” and “step outside of boxes.” I’d like to roll my eyes, but truth be told, it’s enviable the way she owns her history and celebrates her changes. Just once I’d like to stand on stage dressed in sparkles and dance my heart out. I could’ve tonight. But I got covid instead. Maybe next year.
