When I was younger, I used to break my heart on New Year’s Eve. Hard. As a natural born dreamer, I was always so full of expectations that I would start the night full of hope and wishes, and by 1am, I’d be sad and disappointed with the outcome of the night. I can think of only about three NYE’s in my teens and 20’s that did not end in despair.
One involved driving around in a car all night with my high school friends Dawn and Drea. They were girls that just got me. They were always down for my shenanigans. The initial plan was to dress to the nines and just go out and see what could happen. We nixed the dressing up part and just went out in jeans and sweaters…and I don’t think we got in ANY trouble, but we laughed all night and listened to our favorite songs, and just generally had a good time with each other. It was a night when I realized that there are few things that beat the wholeness you feel being around people who get you.
Another was at one of Strawdog Theatre’s many New Year’s Eve parties. I think it may have been the first one that I went to in my first year in the city. A lot of my people from school were in the company or company adjacent like I was, and I danced my ass off like no one was watching, drank my fair share, and stumbled home to pass out, blissed out.
Another year, at that same party, I hooked up with a really delicious boy and tumbled through a funhouse of misadventures getting from the party to his place, including, but not limited to, our cab crashing into a limo, the limo driver and the cab driver throwing hands at each other and us running away from the scene hand in hand. It was wild and romantic, and good times were had. He never called me after that night, and even though that made me melancholy for about a month or more, in the grand scheme of things, he amounted to not much more than a footnote in my life story.
If we are talking about the years from 15-30, that is only 3 out of 15 NYE’s where I did not break my own heart. Those are not amazing stats. When I look back at that formative era, I wanted a boyfriend, a musical number, something spectacular. There was the year in college when I was home for break that I was going to write a godamned play goddammit. Stuck in my podunk parents house with no plans in my podunk town, I was going to sit down in 1994 and write my first masterpiece into the wee hours of 1995. Didn’t happen. I didn’t realize until I sat down to do it that I didn’t know how to write a play. I didn’t have enough life experience or much that was really worth saying at that age. It sure felt like I did, but when push came to shove……..crickets.
Around 30, I was just beginning to transition from the mindless day job into what would become the main course of my life’s work. My close friends (who were also usually my party friends) would soon scatter to the four corners of the earth…and I, having found more meaning in my daily work, would stop seeking inspiration in alcohol infused adventures and I would lean into the peace of being by myself. Man, the 30’s were really my salad days. I was comfortable in my own skin, loved being on my own, and could usually find company whenever I wanted it, but I didn’t need it as inspiration or fuel. I also cherished my time alone. By 40, my opportunities to be alone would evaporate…see my last post.
My point to you tonight, my lovelies, is that I hope that on this New Year’s Eve and all that follow, you can know that great things don’t always align with some schedule that is dictated by popular culture. Hop out of the matrix and and enjoy what you have in this moment. For me, tonight, it will be sweet and sour meatballs, artichoke dip, video games, and trying to stay up until midnight. If you’re out…don’t go desperately looking for the kiss. Look for the good storyteller, or the great dancer, or just tell your own stories and dance your ass off. Hold the door for someone. Listen. Help. Connect. Maybe take some time like I just did, looking back to learn best ways to move forward. That is where the magic lies. I was always looking for the metaphorical magic, but now, I see that the things I was romanticizing were about as two dimensional as a stock photo. They weren’t real, they were made up. commonly agreed upon notions, getting more and more superficial with each time these ideas were passed on.
You deserve better than the empty promises we’ve been sold. We all do.
Happy new year, reader. Thanks for stopping by.
Lisa Moves 