Cleaning confetti out of my hair, nursing a hangover, and trying to convince myself to get back on the ol’ wagon have always been signs of a New Year’s Eve well spent (or just a nagging reminder that I have polished off a few too many Christmas cookies and need to get my ass back to the gym).
It’s been a few years since I pranced around the streets of the city in weather-inappropriate clothing on my way to dance my ass off. I think the last Phish show I saw on NYE was three years ago, both as a result of inflated ticket prices and because the idea of going out on one of the biggest party nights of the year is oftentimes a bit more than I’d like to handle.
But the pressure is still there. It’s impossible not to feel like a lame-o when the entire world is out celebrating and you are home in your pajamas, guzzling back a few extra glasses of wine. In I-might-be-the-greatest-nerd-that-ever-was news, a friend recently mentioned a reading challenge (i.e., to read an entire book and finish by midnight) that I really wanted to sink my teeth into (I can sadly no longer renew The Paris Wife from my local library). But then I thought that might be the last nail in the coffin and solidify my status as the anti-fun.
I nixed the reading challenge.
I have to say, I enjoyed my NYE this year, despite it being on the quiet side. I took some time to reflect on the good in my life. Bryan was just getting over the flu and together we watched the ball drop with our little foster puppy. We ordered in from our favorite Mexican restaurant and celebrated new beginnings. I called my dad and texted my friends at the New Year as I always do.
Sometimes it’s hard to silence the noise and the nagging pressure. But when I feel at peace, there’s no place I’d rather be.
And for once, I didn’t care what the rest of the world was doing.