Making plans is the bane of my existence. I am specifically talking about New Year’s Eve today, but this statement can be applied to just about any occasion. I have no memory of an evening when the countdown to the change in the calendar brought me any enjoyment.
The most vivid one in recent years was, of course, the New Year’s after my mother passed away. It is not surprising that I broke down into tears in the first moments of 2014, the first year that would happen without her being in it. But I will tell you most years aren’t much better.
I have tried everything to make the concept of an enjoyable New Year’s celebration work. I have gone out to expensive parties at night clubs near Times Square. I have had intimate get togethers with friends, both at my home and other’s. I have gone to concerts. Most recent years I have just slept through it. This option seems to be the least painful.
That feeling of loneliness appears to be heightened by the purpose of these events. They are reminders that we are all in this together. The tradition of that first kiss, singing songs and wrapping our arms around one another. I am well practiced at imitating these things but they bring me no joy.
I have made plans with my children to go to a friends house for dinner tonight. I will be home and hopefully fast asleep when the clock strikes 12. They like to stay up late and watch TV. It is one of the few things they like to do together. If that is anticipation of an enjoyable night, then I am looking forward to a happy new year.