When I was a teen I could hardly wait for New Years as there would be booze and getting drunk.
During college New Years meant possibly the best party I had ever gone to. However, $100 for open bar at a club in Manhattan often meant getting far too few weak drinks and fools from Jersey. I moved to San Francisco after college and went to equally high expectation parties that were usually let down.
Finally New Years became a night for apartment parties. Low expectations with very favorable results.
That crescendoed in having the best apartment parties possible, which turned into parties we threw at clubs with open bars for $100. (Full circle, huh?)
Got smarter and found locales we could have big parties but for free. But oh the work. Preparation would take months, all for one night.
All this effort for a what? I got very confused by that. I appreciated being at a party with all my friends and their friends, but oh the effort and the drama.
For the last couple years New Years has ceased to either be the best party ever or a palpable let down. It simple means a chance to appreciate with the people I’m with that we stayed alive another year, all of us in that room, and that we’ll get to see what happens in the one that comes.
That’s what New Years means to me at age 37.