When New Years Eve doesn't mean what it used to mean

Making sense of what we need to heal

I used to be someone who craved the fresh turning of the page into the shiny new year. Secretly hoping the ball dropping erased whatever I hadn’t figured out about life yet. A blank slate. A fresh page. A new start. All the metaphors.

Somewhere in mid-January, I’d look around and realize it was a haunted replica of my exact same life from December. Classic bait and switch.

I used to get angry about this.

Starting over should be easier. The resolutions never seem to be the magic pixy dust my sheer willpower needs to override decades of dysfunction. Is New Years kind of a joke?

Welcome to my super cynical New Years Eve post that’s hoping to land in a different place than it started. ;)

Photo by Cristian Escobar on Unsplash

Maybe it was my brother’s death. This is the my second New Years Eve entering into a new year with a staggering loss that doesn’t care about the new calendar. Grief is grief. It gets a little easier but it still sucks.

Maybe it was my healing journey through autism and ADHD. This stuff’s been with me for life and I only recently learned its name. I can’t wish away my mental health with some well-written intention to become a new me.

Maybe it’s my daughter turning 12 today. She’s no longer the toddler or elementary kid planted firmly within my understanding and agency. She’s slowly growing into her own world and I’m not at the center of it. I love watching this unfold. And it’s weird.

Maybe it’s getting a little bit older and realizing all the ways I try to fix myself aren’t the actual point of this life. I’m learning to love the imperfections of my story.

I can heal and grow without demanding a clean slate. I can consciously choose a new pattern right in the middle of my chaotic messy life. I can intentionally unwire deeply engrained neural pathways while my kids play video games and I’m mad at my husband about something. I can take a deep breath and watch all the stories I’ve told myself about that moment fall away.

I think that’s it — I don’t need New Years Eve the same way I did before. It’s no longer a crutch or false moment to catapult me into a magical new space of healing and love.

Turns out, any moment I’m willing to tell the absolute truth about a challenging reality in front of me is a moment I delver myself to a fresh start. And I’ve had a million of them in 2023.

Here’s to celebrating all the big and small ways we made it through this year.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

What about you, my lovely reader?

How does New Years Eve land in your world? Is it a welcome ritual full of meaning and invitation? How has it shifted for you over the years? How’s your being as you turn the page from 2023 to 2024?

Know I’m sending you big deep love this day, wherever you are.

May all kinds of love be yours in this new year.
May healing be a breath away.
May you tell the truth about what you hold in your hands.
May all the parts of you feel heard.
May you take a risk in loving yourself.

And I guess — if any moment can transport us into a space of fierce possibility and hope, then maybe even New Years Eve can do that. ;)

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