An old New Year's message

For my last blog entry for 2005, I've decided to post a copy of a New Year email I sent out in 2001. Maybe I'm just in a lazy or uncreative mood, but I just don't think I can write something better than what I did 4 years ago. Anyway, my feelings about new years are still the same, and my feelings about the next one are no different. Here's to 2006.

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When I was a kid, before January 1 rolled around, my parents would make me and my siblings sit down and write a good old-fashioned New Year’s Resolutions list, ‘to begin the year right.’ We were expected to put a lot of serious thought into our lists, share them with the family, and then post them over our desks to serve as a reminder throughout the year of what we were supposed to be doing/not doing. Over the years, my lists included the insipid (“I resolve to control my temper.”), the ambitious (“I will finish third grade with honors!”), the dramatic (“I will never lie to my parents.”) and the impossible (“I will keep my desk clutter-free all year long.”).

Eventually though, the imposed resolutions phased out (much to our relief). Now we are left to face new years with our own private ruminations on the past 12 months, and should we be so inclined, to come up with our own sets of personal resolutions for the next 365 days of our lives. I haven’t drawn up a formal list for the past five or six years. I don’t see the point of writing down usually silly self-avowals I know I won’t be able to keep anyway (at least, not for an entire year). But I do appreciate the habit my parents tried (albeit unsuccessfully) to instill in us, because it taught us to pause and reflect upon the experiences of the year that was and contemplate the promise of the year that will be. For there is no better time for reflection than when standing at the threshold where the memory of the past meets the mystery of the future.

In the indefinable, imperceptible moment sandwiched between /separating/linking December 31 and January 1, we reach the end but arrive simultaneously at the beginning. It is a time to celebrate both the year that was, and the year that will be, but most of all, it is a celebration of what COULD be, of the infinite, beautiful possibilities the new year holds-- opportunities to grow, to create, to develop, to heal, to help, to make a difference, to learn, to live, to love.

And when we recognize all that we could do in the new, glorious year, all that we could make of ourselves and our world, maybe we can resolve, at least, to go forth into the new year and try to realize some of them. Even the insipid and the ambitious and the dramatic and the impossible. Heck, even if we won’t be able to keep all those resolutions, maybe we can draw up a list and post them over our desks. It’s a beginning.

Happy New Year, all.

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Allow me one last act of laziness and let me repeat the contents of the postscript that went in the above email:

Thanks and love go out to my family and friends who saw me through 200[5], and who will undoubtedly see me through 200[6], no matter what it brings. You guys are the best part of all my years.

"It's New Year's Eve and hopes are high
Dance one year in, kiss one goodbye
Another chance, another start
So many dreams to tease the heart

We don't need a crowded ballroom
Everything we need is here
If you're with me next year will be
The perfect year."

-Sunset Boulevard