It’s that warped time between Christmas and New Year when nothing is normal.
What day is it? Don’t know.
Is the shop down the road open? No idea.
Aren’t you meant to be at work? Ummmm…
Everything is functioning abnormally and everyone is forced to accept it.
In the lead up to Christmas, with shameless bouts of midweek boozing and the permission to make everything glittery, shimmery or twinkly, December becomes a month-long Friday where we all stop giving a toss about anything. And why not? We have endured 11 months of seriousness. We can now boot this firmly out of the window and any budgetary plans we were silly enough to make can also be shredded to sparkly smithereens. Sod it all.
However the big day itself – the forced nature of it and the expectations that stubbornly sit within it, probably from conditioning that cannot completely be undone even as years go by – I am not a huge fan of. I realised this because I woke up the next day with a strong urge to do the Carlton dance. I was happy. I felt like a bird. Dinner had been devoured, gifts had been given, chat had been chitted. I smiled in the knowledge that the show, with all the mild-but-very-real anxieties, teeny temper tantrums and festive fits that come with it, was over. For ONE FULL YEAR.
Long enough to forget all of the above.
But it wasn’t just this sense of relief that had me feeling sprightly. There was also excitement brewing.
I often hear the scrooges of New Year – I call these people, NYusances – moan that the New Year needn’t receive so much attention, that resolutions are pointless and that January 1st is merely another day.
Whilst in theory these NYusances might be right, I find there is so much more to the technicality that one chronological year is ending and another beginning
The start of a year represents a sense of opportunity, freshness and hope, all there for the taking. It serves as a natural moment for pause and a fitting chance for refresh. A time to feel optimistic about the future, to plan and to aim. So what if it is just a sense of newness and not actual newness – the sense is all that matters.
Nobody achieved it without dreaming of it. Nobody survived it without praying for it.
I was recently asked what the highlight of my year has been and it took me a while to respond, partially because I, probably like you, am innately harsh on myself. Why I strained to answer is odd because in hindsight, I had multiple stories to offer.
I ran a half marathon. It was hard. Six months later I ran 15 miles. It was worse. I visited four of the world’s most amazing cities and marveled at some of the most amazing art, made possible from my hard-earned dollar. I spent quality time with mini family members to create meaningful memories.
But the biggest highlight for me, and do forgive this cheese-fest oozing cliche, was getting to know myself better, gaining some much-needed clarity on prickly situations. The penny might not have dropped just yet, but it is on its way down.
There was plenty of good stuff to choose from, even in a backdrop of relative shitness. And there is no reason why this coming year cannot be bigger and better. The world we live in is crawling with distractions and life is short – yes that old chestnut, but you know it is true.
So whilst you can’t force people, things, or feelings, you can force one thing – yourself. You might thank yourself later.
Hell, you might even enjoy it.
Psssst. Happy New Year, strange little enjoyer of my words – like, share and continue being awesome.
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