Auld Lang Syne . . .

Auld Lang Syne . . .

“Nothing. I’m not doing anything. I hate New Year’s Eve.”

This is my response to a friend when he innocently asks about my plans for ringing in the new year. I regret the words as soon as they hit the air space between us. Poor guy, he asks a simple question, and I am revving up for a rant about a holiday I dislike. He gives me a weak smile and retreats with his beer.

Fortunately, the bar is busy, and I seamlessly join another group of friends. I make a mental note to shut up about my dislike for New Year’s Eve. Preoccupied, I half listen to the conversation while I consider circling back to my friend to offer a cheerier version of me. I spot him at a high-top table laughing as he raises his glass in a toast. He looks my way and grins. He hasn’t given our exchange a second thought, and I’m glad.

I tell myself to lighten up. It’s the same every year. I declare that I’m not celebrating, and I do anyway. There have been fun trips to Vegas, exclusive parties, delicious food and great entertainment. How is that bad? It’s not. The party itself is never the issue. It’s the end of the night, that damn countdown. I hate it.

Being dateless on New Year’s Eve for more than a decade, I have developed strategies for managing my expectations. I try to have a designated safe person to kiss and hug at midnight, a single girlfriend is best. A trusted guy friend works too. If these two options are unavailable, I prepare to face, alone, the few awkward seconds after midnight. (Side note: I have learned to avoid eye contact with cringy guys looking for any excuse to kiss a woman they don’t know). While everyone is kissing, I have two choices. I can wait my turn staring blankly into space, or I can keep shouting, “Happy New Year!” I’ve done both. . .

Lost in thought, I’m startled when someone clinks my glass and asks, “Hey, any plans for New Year’s Eve?”

This time I take a breath, smile and reply, “Not sure yet. I’ll do something. I always do.”

Walking home I wonder why I torture myself with the anticipation of being alone. I am never alone. I am always invited, included, and loved. Maybe I’ve just watched too many romantic New Year’s Eve themed movies, An Affair to Remember, Sleepless in Seattle, and my all-time favorite, When Harry met Sally. I remember a particular line. Harry jokes about the lyrics of Auld Lang Syne and wonders aloud why we sing it and what it means. Sally laughs and says, “It’s about old friends.”

I ponder this idea and decide on a new strategy. When the clock strikes twelve, I’ll raise a glass to family, and friends, old and new, near and far, and those forever in my heart.

Whether you are out celebrating big, or home celebrating small, whether you are kissing your love, or loving your friends, or if it’s just too hard to celebrate at all, may the New Year bring good health, happiness, and peace to us all.

Xoc

p.s. To my fellow hopeless romantics, don’t give up . . . 2025 is going to be our year!