That top edge you can barely see? All me, baby.
I spotted my neighbor early on New Year’s Eve in the self checkout lane at Whole Foods. In his hands: oysters, champagne, a six-pack of Guinness. In my hands: red sauce, pepperoni, Mozzarella cheese, and a six-pack of Athletic Brewing Company Upside Dawn, my favorite variety of the non-alcoholic beer.
Seeing him, all feelings I’d been stuffing down for days—or decades—bubbled right up, as juicy as the oysters he was holding. I am a New Year’s Eve failure. In my head, New Year’s Eve is about wearing cute sequinned tops at parties where nobody feels awkward, even when the countdown begins because there is no scramble for a midnight kiss. Everybody is, naturally, perfectly coupled.
And even though I cringe typing that sentence because hello, Dimity: let’s get real here! I am, still, at 51 solid years old, suspect to buying into what I think things should look like, instead of how my individual self would like them to be.
Pressing rewind on memorable New Year’s Eves, exactly two come to mind.
One, a block of years from my childhood, when we went to a party at my best friend’s house. They lived in the country, and the festivities included cross-country skiing through the trees in the dark (yes, a few years ended with a party-goer needing stitches) and skating on their pond. We’d head inside around 11, take off our snow pants and wet mittens, and, hot chocolate in hand, wait for Dick Clark to do his thing.
The second was in the late 1990’s in New York City, when a girlfriend and I, both single, ran the New Year’s Eve race in Central Park. (I was always single on NYE until I met Grant, my husband, which is perhaps part of this whole issue.) Dressed in thin lycra tights, we shivered at the starting line for what felt like forever. When the gun went off at 11:59, fireworks filled the sky and we ticked off four miles. It doesn’t get better than this, I thought.
Typing out these memories, I realize movement is the ingredient that makes things memorable for me. Hello, Dimity: tell us something we don’t know about you. The thing is, I have a hard time remembering that super prominent feature about myself, when I’ve got an preconceived idea that has been ironed into my being for years and years.
Leave it to an offspring to bring me back to reality. “I hate New Year’s Eve,” proclaimed Amelia, my daughter who, at 20, continues to astound me with her unwavering certainty in her choices. “I want to make pizzas, do a puzzle, and then get in bed.” But what are her friends doing? I think to myself. Doesn’t she want to be in sequins at a party? Doesn’t she want to look for a kiss that can start our year?
NOT the cake we ate, sadly. But if Whole Foods/Amazon happens to be reading: Amelia and I would appreciate it if you could please bring back single slices of the Chocolate Eruption Cake in 2024.
And so Amelia’s intentions became our itinerary. On Sunday night, we rolled out DIY pizzas, ate slices of rich chocolate cake, and dug into a 1,000 piece puzzle of the National Parks. I finished the top border, corner to corner, and felt accomplished: 26 or so pieces nicely strung together. As Ben, my 17-year-old, took off for a party (not dressed in sequins, btw), I slipped into a bath, soaking in Dr. Teal’s Pre-and Post-Workout Soak Epsom Salts while reading Tom Lake by Ann Patchett, not wanting her delicious story to end.
My intention was to return to the puzzle, but when I got downstairs, Grant and Amelia were grooving. I didn’t have the energy to start another edge.
I wandered into the TV room, and after getting annoyed by the former half of Andy Cohen and Anderson Cooper in Times Square, turned on American Symphony, a documentary that shows the full range of life. Jon Baptiste is winning Grammys and composing an unprecedented symphony while his wife, Suleika Jaouad, is undergoing a bone marrow transplant during her second bout with cancer. In one scene, they are sitting together on a couch. His head is in her lap as a gallery of fireworks burst behind them outside. They exchange a short kiss and wish each other Happy New Year.
No party, no sequins, no oysters. Just a shared moment to start another year together.
Part of my intention for writing this is to remind myself to make a plan next year; I don’t need to be on top of a 14’er at midnight, but I would like to spend a nice chunk of the day outside, breathing in the fresh, chilly air and feeling alive in every cell in my body. When I’m in motion, I never care about sequins or oysters. I am firmly, unapologetically myself.
This year, though, I admit, despite my internal freak-out at Whole Foods, hasn’t turned out so bad. At 9:30, Grant is still scanning the table with intensity, looking for pieces to finish Grand Teton. Amelia headed up to bed a few minutes ago.
I give him a New Year’s Eve peck, tell him not to stay up too late, and go finish my book.
I love fireworks so its fun to stay up as where I live we can have them. In the past my local running club used to host a midnight 5K dash that was good times. There was usually a keg and crockpots full of chili and soup at the end. Don’t know if I can run that late anymore. Helps to live in the South where it isn’t cold to watch the fireworks. Not sure I’d like standing around in TS.
I love this. At 41 now I”m realizing more and more I need to accept who I am and what I want. I think I have FOMO looking at what fun others are having a parties/gatherings, however, in reality I’d be an anxious mess at those things. Or I’d feel bad the next day if I drank too much. Its ok to stay in, small glass of wine, working the puzzle.
We spent our New years eve working on this puzzle and watching a movie. Perfection.
I am with you all the way! Your night sounds delightful.
We stayed with family friends at their Jersey shore house- ate takeout sushi, played bananagrams and Uno, and watched football and bad TV.
On NYD we watched the local Polar Plunge at noon. Maybe we’ll participate next year……
Spending time with Tom Lake isn’t a bad way at all to spend New Year’s Eve! Definitely one to savor and perfect for reflecting as we turn the page on the year. Happy 2024, Dimity!
I am SO not the celebrator…for this NYE, I designed my own Across the Years triathlon, where I challenged myself to do an iron distance challenge starting on 12/31 and finishing on 1/1. Mind you, I had NOT trained for this, and only thought of it 2 weeks prior, and had never done that distance before, but was so overwhelmed by the desire to challenge myself to the unknown and do something different to celebrate the new year that I decided to go for it. Safety was paramount since I was solo most of the way and had limited sunlight and cold air and cold lake water. I did 2 hours on the bike trainer first (31 miles), then geared/bundled up to bike into town in sub freezing weather (brrr). At 69 miles, I arrived at a county park where my 16yo dd met me with swim gear and wetsuit/booties/hood/gloves/vaseline for face/buoy and I swam along the shoreline for 1.5 hours in 52F water (brrrr)…My watch stopped working part way, so I wasn’t sure how much I had left, but I was getting too cold and got out. It turns out I had swum 2.05 miles so far. She prepared a bowl of ramen for me and I geared up again to bike outside. I was able to get in 31 miles before the sun was setting and I needed to stop for safety reasons. My friend met me to run 15 miles in town and then drove me to my driveway (up the mountain). Our dachsund when 4 miles with me and then another friend met me for the last 7.2 miles, finishing at 1am!! Later on 1/1, I went to the Y to finish the .35 miles swimming and 12 miles of biking. I would do it again, or some other movement challenge to ring in the New Year!!