For the first time in your adult life, you are willingly asleep long before the stroke of midnight on New Years Eve. 2020 moves into 2021, passing you by because you are snuggly tucked up in bed. The sparkle of New Years Eve dulled long ago – you have since realised that when you put too much pressure and expectations are too high for you to have the best night of your life, nothing will ever live up to it. The best celebrations have been spontaneous or one’s with the lowest expectations. Sure, there have been a couple of great NYE, a few that you wish you and anyone else who was there could magically forget, and a couple that make for fantastic stories, forever stored in the bank of nostalgia.
No longer are you chasing the pipe dream of New Year, New Me – instead realising it’s fantasy, or rather, a fantasy dreamed up by marketing mogul’s desperate to empty pockets of hard earned money. You have come to realise that, like with the changing of seasons, a year transferring to a new one will not automatically transform you.
What is this feeling so sudden and new? Content. Content to just be. You go to bed long before midnight because you now know that change doesn’t happen overnight.