Happy New Year's

What a prick I’d been last year. Creating a list of impossible resolutions and goals that were so far from my reality. Who in the hell did I think I was? I had only set myself up for a year of failure and disappointments. I am absolutely stunned at the audacity of my younger self. Suggesting that I learn a new language in a year, and finally get in shape were among the worst in the list of her half-witted commandments. Though only a year has passed, she is younger, more naïve and dumber than I care to admit.

My fingers trace the words of last year’s resolutions, roaming down the list of unchecked boxes and far-fetched fantasies spelt out in my winding cursive. The bottom of the paper is pink and stiff under my palm and I am reminded of last year when I had sat down to write my declarations for the new year.

“One too many, eh?” My father had chuckled across the table after watching me topple my wine glass over, spilling the merlot on the table and paper in front of me. I roll my eyes and smile as the family bursts into a round of giggles — they are a pack of giddy hyenas, wine-drunk and dizzy with the delight of a new year. Every laugh and snort only riles them up more and heightens the excitement.

I pluck my paper up from my puddle of wine and shake out the now-soggy list. Drops of cheap wine sprinkle down my wrist as I try to salvage the stained sheet. I grab a fistful of paper towels and quickly blot up my spilled drink before generously refilling my glass. We sit around a long table in my mother’s kitchen each with a pen and paper set before us. Our annual New Year’s tradition to count down the new year together and write out our desires for our next trip around the sun.

I am dreamy, full of hope and endless possibilities. I smile looking around the kitchen; my family is loud and rambunctious — taking full advantage of the holiday tomorrow and the chance it gives them to nurse the hangovers that will surely be coming their way.

It is a stark difference to the emptiness I find myself in tonight. My apartment is cold and empty. The hum of the refrigerator and the drip from the leaky faucet only serve to amplify the shrieking silence I sit in. I find myself alone for the final holiday of the year. Perhaps I should have been used to it by now, this year has gifted me an abundance of lonely celebrations. I pull my blanket tighter around my shoulders and drag my attention back to my stained resolutions.

1. Get a promotion at work. The first item on my list is written carefully, each line and dip holding the hopes of my past self. “Hah,” a bitter, mocking jeer escapes my lips. I had not gotten that promotion I had so fervently wanted, I had not even managed to keep my job.

2. Learn a new language. I roll my eyes.

3. Lose weight and get in shape. Why oh why did I write this every year? I had tried, truly — I had laced up my sneakers and had committed to a jog around the block once per week. My wheezing lungs protested, rasping and pleading for me to stop. I managed to drag myself out of the house only twice.

4. Be kind. Sort of a lame resolution if I do say so myself. How does one measure kindness? How can I tell if I had been more kind this year than I had years past? These past few months have not given me much opportunity to extend kindness to my fellow man. My weekly trip to the grocery store allows me a brief and fleeting reprise from the isolation. No, I don’t think I can say I have been overly kind this year.

5. Find love. No, Cupid's arrow did not pierce my heart this year. Flings — that's all they were, not relationships by any stretch of the imagination — were few and far between. Scrolling through dating apps felt empty and pointless.

I sigh at my list of failures. I couldn’t even manage one of five. The defeat feels embarrassing, another failure to add to my list of defeats this year. I rummage through my cupboards and pull out a dusty bottle of brandy.

“Cheers!” I toast the moldy ceiling and down my glass. The faucet drips, and I pour another and take a gulp. The refrigerator hums and the furnace kicks in. The drinks go down easy and I sway and laugh and bid farewell to my desolate year. The apartment creaks and groans and seems to be swaying along with me. If you really listen, it's not quite as quiet as it seems. My neighbors tap and bump and roll to let me know they are here. The wind whistles and a distant radio sings a lullaby. The clock on the oven clicks and my phone vibrates against the kitchen counter. The hours dance by with me as I make friends with the quiet symphony of my seclusion.

 The year is winding down. I can only rejoice at the fact that it is ending, and the desperate hope that next year cannot be any worse. Finally it is 11:59: one minute left. 60 seconds to count down...59...58....

I remember that I do not have to be so alone. Family would be waiting for me, expecting me. I scurry to my room and grab my laptop from my nightstand and rush back to the living room and plop into my shaggy loveseat. I log in and my calendar dings to remind me of the invite that started an hour ago. I rake my hands through my hair, snagging and pulling on my scalp

 30...29...28…

The internet lags and I fret, pounding the enter key, threatening my computer and WIFI with the wrath of, well, me.

3...2...1

And there they are. My rambunctious hyenas. I smile at the glowing squares on my screen, each box showing a laughing, drunken face. The wind whistles outside and suddenly my apartment feels cozy against the wicked winter storm outside. The walls of my tiny apartment echo the laughs and cheers of a happy new year. For this moment I have found happiness, and I grin. I do not know what tomorrow will bring, but today, in this moment, I laugh.