This is the first New Years in 18 years I have spent not in church. Since I was 13, every New Years weekend (from 3 - 5 days) has been spent in North Battleford at a church retreat. I have never missed one before. This year I had hoped to go, but it was not to be. There were numerous things that kept me from going - having to get Dad and Tanya on a plane was the main thing, the dogs not having anywhere to go was the other.
Instead, I spent the evening at The Guy's home with 11 of his friends. It was fun - a jovial gathering of an odd mix of uber professionals and blue collar workers. I was terribly sick throughout, so sat cuddled on the couch in The Guy's wool socks and Cosby sweater (I will make that sweater "disappear" when I get the chance) and chatted with people. Champagne flowed, munchies munched, party hats perched and horns blew shrilly. I promised myself I would make it until 12:30 and that is what I did.
I had a good time and I was very glad to be with The Guy, but it was not where I wanted to be. I wanted to be in church, with my friends (and The Guy) where it feels like home to me. Now I am home alone with the dogs and I am lonely and a little sad I missed out on what celebrating New Years means to me.
For me New Years is about starting fresh. Starting with the hope of doing better, of being better next year. Sure it's also about stupid diets I will try for 2 days and then give up in exchange for a piece of chocolate I found in the couch cushions, but for the most part it's about the idea of the possibility of something fresh with no mistakes in it.