I secretly hate New Year’s Eve celebrations.
I usually don’t let people know this about me, as it might affect their appreciation of certain moments in our shared lives, but there it is. The drinking, paper horns, and butchering of Auld Lang Syne are all celebratory of a moment that feels oddly similar to closing a coffin lid for the last time at a long funeral. You’re glad the process is over, but there’s a bittersweet moment where the passage of time hurts more than you’d like to admit and all you want to do is fall out of reality and never let anything pass from your life ever again.
In spite all that morbid heaviness, I celebrate every year with all the expected pomp and circumstance. I happily don pointy hats, count backwards from ten with unmatched revelry, and occasionally pop champagne party poppers at the night sky to remind the universe that no happy moment deserves to pass silently. In my head, it sounds a bit like this video.