18Dec
I recognize this puts me in a weird, small minority. Many people tell me they “don’t care” about New Year’s Eve, or even that they “hate” it. At the same time, many of these same people…including perhaps you, dear reader…adore Thanksgiving and Christmas.
The devotion to these two, earlier end-of-the-year holidays, is completely understandable. I enjoy the scent of a Christmas tree and a rollicking round of “Deck the Halls” just as much as anyone else. I find joy in the traditions associated with that festive time between Thanksgiving and Christmas: The gatherings of family and friends, the food, the music, the spirit of the season, religious or otherwise.
But after weeks of following holiday protocol, cherished though it may be… I’m ready for a break. And New Year’s Eve delivers. Yes, it’s an official holiday…but it’s Anything. You. Want. (No, this is not a picture of me and my husband! But I thought it fit the point I'm trying to make here...)
Whatever you feel like wearing, eating, doing…it’s up to you on New Year’s Eve. Sequins or sweatpants? Pasta Puttanesca or Take-out Pizza? A crowded shindig with noisemakers and hats, an intimate gathering with friends, or a quiet evening alone with the cat? New Year’s Eve has no script you must follow. No one’s going to be disappointed because you didn’t feel like making stuffing or there weren’t enough pies or you bought the wrong presents.
New Year’s Eve also gives us a choice of who we’ll celebrate with. While for many people, Thanksgiving and Christmas are family gatherings, New Year’s Eve, again, offers you a choice. If you have complex family dynamics and planning for a traditional holiday meal involves a negotiation worthy of the United Nations, New Year’s invites you to simply go out to eat. Or order in. Or heat frozen egg rolls.
I’ve had many iterations of New Year’s celebrations and have enjoyed them all. When my husband and I were first dating, we decided to throw a fancy bash at my apartment in Washington, D.C. We both invited lots of people, told everyone to dress up, and to bring a dish to share. My husband (then boyfriend) put on a tuxedo and I wore something that shimmered. Several hours in, the party was going well, and we were delighted that our different groups of friends were enjoying getting to know each other. Then, as midnight approached, there was an insistent knock at the door, which I answered. Half-a-dozen elegantly dressed people shouted “Happy New Year!” and bustled in as one large, jolly group. I didn’t recognize any of them, but the women wore cocktail dresses and several of the men had top hats on, so they seemed to have received the memo about our dress code. I welcomed them and ushered them into my apartment. As they made the rounds, boisterously greeting the other guests, I whispered to my husband: “Are those friends of yours from work?” “No!” he replied. “I thought they were friends of yours!
We eyed each other with panic. Luckily, before we even had the chance to worry about the true motives of these well-dressed strangers, they swept out of my apartment as rapidly as they’d come in, cheerfully wishing everyone the very best. Nothing, as far as we could tell, was stolen.
As children came into our marriage, we toned down our larger, more ambitious parties to smaller, more relaxed gatherings that matched our depleted energy levels. We found ourselves getting together with eight or ten close friends for potluck dinners that were easy on both hosts and guests alike. The vibe was always cozy, intimate, and in a small group, it was easy to have meaningful conversations. Over many a New Year’s Eve around the fireplace, we’ve shared our feelings about the twelve months just passed, and our hopes for the months ahead.
And then there were those New Year’s Eves spent in even smaller groups. One year, one of our sons was embroiled in some middle school drama, and suddenly had no plans for New Year’s Eve. At that tender, sensitive age, where friends and social standing are everything, our boy was going to be left out. To say he was “miserable” doesn’t even begin to describe it. My husband and I dropped whatever plans we had, told him we weren’t interested in going out anyway, and wouldn’t it be fun to order Chinese food and watch on TV as the ball dropped in Times Square? We saw the relief on his twelve-year-old face and knew we’d made the perfect decision.
Another quiet New Year’s Eve was December 31st of 2021, when the world was still deep in the COVID-19 pandemic. I took a picture of us that night, to remember this odd New Year’s, where everything felt upside down. Our hair is standing in six directions, and we’re dressed in our favorite pajama pants. Still - we’re smiling. Something about the turning of the page, of opening that fresh, new calendar, always gives me hope and inspiration.
So, as the end of this year approaches, I hope you’ll join me in an extra-hearty toast for New Year’s Eve! Enjoy it…however you want.
Happy New Year!
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