New Year’s Eve Is A Trap
A retired Lit Professor into BDSM told me something that finally made the holidays make sense.
Every year, I think this is the New Year’s Eve that’ll change my life.
The directions to the fancy party are still warm from the printer.
I dress carefully. Brand new outfit. Verrrry Instagrammable. But—
I’ll never wear it again. It’ll only ever remind me of the crying. It starts at exactly 12:00:01 a.m., those sobs under fireworks.
I’ve done this at many NYE parties.
I’ve cried in guest bathrooms. In one of those pantries with a frosted glass door that says “PANTRY.”
After, I’d say never again. But then, again. Again.
I was young.
Then I learned—by accident—one way to stop spiraling over the holidays.
My worst New Year’s Eves were in my twenties. I once met friends at a party in New Orleans where everyone immediately scattered to better parties or disappeared into bedrooms. I wasn't out yet. Not a party kid. A former Altar Boy of the Year, for God’s sake.
I left.
I walked alone down a residential street in the freezing cold. Through windows, I could see other people having lovely nights. I only knew it was midnight because fireworks went off overhead, looking at them through teary eyes.
Then, a big night where I didn’t cry.
A favorite question of mine to ask at parties is, “What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?”
Someone will ask me, “How about this weather?” and I’ll ask them, “Do you love your father?”
That’s how I ended up in conversation with a retired literature professor who was spending his golden years exploring BDSM.
At some point, I asked him the meaning of life. Typical.
He didn’t pause.
“Happiness,” he said, “is about managing expectations.”
Of course it was him. Of course it was someone fluent in sadism and masochism who understood holidays.
I wept less after I adjusted my NYE expectations. See friends? Reasonable. Bed by 9pm? Achievable. Change my whole life? Crying. In a taxi. In an inoperable van in the woods in Louisiana (only once).
It’s different now. Any tears that might come are happy. One year, I went on a midnight hike with two close friends. Another, Steven and I went to Paris and, exhausted by a day of sightseeing in the freezing cold, shared a box of chocolates and bottle of champagne and went to bed early. Another, we threw our own party where I could’ve cried in my own bathroom for a change, but I didn’t need to.
Why the years of chasing overnight change? Maybe to face change head-on, defang it since it’s inevitable.
But change doesn’t need a Dick Clark countdown. It doesn’t care what I’m wearing. It comes, sometimes with heart break and sometimes with Prosecco. I try to prepare all year with mindfulness practices, therapy, and making art—maybe that’s a book or a webseries or a Substack, but often it’s a walk or working in the yard or taking photos of Raindrop and Shirley.
I never needed to adjust my life, just my expectations.
I remember in my early 20’s in West Hollywood, there was always this idealized concept that to be in one of the popular gay clubs at New Years, amongst your fellow LGBTQ community, was THE ONLY place to be.
After spending two consecutive New Years in a long line waiting to get into a club at the countdown, I realized how it was repeating an already familiar pattern of wanting to belong, and yet still managing to not quite ‘make the cut’.
Around that same time, an older and wiser acquaintance shared how he met with a group of friends and they meditated as the calendar rolled from one year into the next. I remember feeling a natural curiosity rise about how that could be a really kind and helpful option to consider myself. All these years later I still enjoy going into a softer, more spacious state and appreciate taking stock of my life and visioning what’s possible. I’m not a fan of resolutions but I do love the fresh feelings of inspiration. ❤️
NYE is always anticlimactic. Going out that night has always felt like an expensive chore. Staying in with people who ask real questions, like you, is much more satisfying. Cheers to being nosy, and wanting to understand what makes others, and ourselves, tick. Miss you!