Around this time of year, I can’t be the only one who is starting to take a pause after the rush that is the final tired months of the year. It’s almost like the first six are all fresh and hopeful, with the new numbers somewhat of a novelty to write and new years resolutions still a point of interest.
And then mid-July makes things start to go faster and faster, like time suddenly won’t allow for you to smell the flowers.
And then we blink and we’re exhausted- it’s September. Then December again, and we get a small pause before the year is out to just, think.
Think about how big and momentous and exhausting this year has been. How 2020 has been unlike any other of its kind. How bitter-sweet it tastes, having almost passed yet still lingering. Still alive in a way. 2020 is Trump, trying to stay present and or president.
Then comes Christmas, Christmas parties and New Years Eve plans and….
It starts all over again.
Here we are, waking up in a new year with all these new things on the agenda.
I can’t help but wonder if we didn’t keep track of the days, dates and time that life would feel less real. More long and never-ending. I wonder if people would feel better or worst?
Sometimes I crave that kind of simplicity, despite never having met it.
I guess being a kid is as close as you can get to touching that boat. Where your parents create this safe, scheduled construct of the world. Where everything is free and you never have to worry.
Thinking back to high school and the exhausting exercise that was, I do feel this fear of not having plans or people who want me around them for the New Years. And a similar anxiety hangs around birthdays too. An ugly reminder that I don’t practise what I preach. That I care what others think of me and probably always will.
And I hate that. I want to find where that one wire is and rip it from the root. But I fear its too deeply ingrained. Too fine to pin-point.
I have friends, probaly more than I started the year with. And to be honest, 2020 was quite epic but also awful in patches.
My first full year with Loui, my pooch.
I moved into my first flat that felt like a home.
I made two new great friends.
My fitness is was pretty solid.
I got closer to my cousin Bron.
I dumped two guys this year- not by ghosting! But by being an adult.
My first year on medication and uni not being its usual painful activity.
My first year I dated and enjoyed myself.
My first year of more sex than the past 3 years combined.
My first internship in fashion.
My first girls share house.
My first time booking tickets to japan and for another person too.
My first birthday party in a few years.
It was also kind of bad, in that dad and I fell off a ladder and almost died.
I broke a mirror.
Dad went to jail.
COVID made people lose their jobs.
A friend contemplated suicide.
My first year without my best-friend M.
Mum and I stopped speaking.
I had a panick attack at the gym.
Lots of people lost their jobs.
So it was up and then down and then up again.
But I guess I wanted to tackle my fears, head-on.
Being alone and not caring what I or others thought, on the one day a year you can’t not.
It was the ultimate test. I could do whatever I wanted.
I could.. go to the water if I felt like it. I could sit on the roof and contemplate life.
Or I could write and write and write…
Why did one night out of 365 make for feeling 10000x more lonely than we actually are, just by spending it alone?
Part of me wanted to lean in and embrace it, being alone when everyone is with someone.
Real growth, not being afraid of something you have feared.
I figure if you live say 70 -95 years, by default you would have to have atleast 15-20+ not great New Years Eves. Last one wasn’t my fav. The one before I passed out on the floor of a bar in Prague and woke up not remembering where I was.
I think New Years and birthdays are there to prove that capitalism is alive and well and that you aren’t a kid anymore. And not everything turns out how you hoped it would.
Because nothing is perfect. You may be an adult now and have more control over your life but not everything and everyone will behave the way you hope, or treat you the way you’d like. Or even the way you treat them.
Humanity is inherently selfish and friends come and go. But some stay, and some are worth the wait. You just never know who until you try.
I guess there is a beauty and excitement in not knowing.
What your next New Years will look like or who your next friend will be. What will unfold differently the following year or who you will meet, that you didn’t know existed.
Life is a big bowl of jellybeans. And you blindly pick the next to stick inside your mouth.
And only until you have tasted them, do you realise what flavour they are. And then the choice is yours, whether you like them or spit them out.
Beyond-curious 