Helloooo, New Year

Helloooo, New Year.

In my head, I’m saying that ala Seinfeld to Newman. Helloooo, New Year. We meet again, you’ve done me dirty so what do you want now sort of vibe.

2022 was a year. Actually, the last few years have been a year. I don’t think I’m alone in this. There is a definite sense that many, many of us are collectively and hesitantly greeting 2023 with a Helloooo, New Year.

Allow me a metaphor.

You remember those old-school, metal merry-go-rounds from the 80’s? 2022 was the kid who spun this merry-go-round fast, fast, fast and wouldn’t let up. That kid from the other school (I heard he smoked by the bike racks) who wasn’t exactly a bully but wasn’t exactly nice. He whipped that thing around until all sense of direction blurred together and you knew if your grip faltered even by an inch, you were flying off.

That sums up 2002.
Hold on tight, eyes forward, don’t fly off.
Just hang on.

I don’t remember if I did a resolution last year. I can’t imagine I did from a spinning merry-go-round, but that’s what it should have been. Just hang on.

Not exactly a war cry for unbridled optimism and possibility but not every intention needs to be cross-stitched onto a sampler and hung in a kitchen. I didn’t need more crap in my kitchen, I needed to stay put until that 2022 asshat stopped the spinning.

Sometimes when the spinning stops, we take a deep breath, get our bearings, and say Damn, I’m glad that’s over. And sometimes we take a deep breath, look around and say, “Damn, I don’t know where I am. None of this is familiar.”

 2022, you Dorothy & Toto’d me right out of the playground. I can’t say I’m going to miss you, buddy. 

I’m not going to do a forward-looking resolution this year. Leaning into what I know feels better than leaning into what I don’t. I’m going to lay low and poke around a bit until I learn whether there’s cotton candy up ahead...or quicksand. In the meantime, just hang on seems like sage self-advice.

Helloooooo, New Year.