Just Another New Years Eve

New Years Eve has been my least favorite holiday for quite a few years now.

I loved New Years Eve as a little girl. I remember New Years Eves of the late 60’s and early 70s where family and friends got together at our house for elaborate parties thrown by my parents. My brother and I would wear our New Years hats and carry canes and dance to celebrate the new year.

As I left my teens and moved into my early twenties, I found myself spending New Years Eve with friends at parties where I would make every effort not to remain sober. During those years, friends were plentiful and I always had somewhere to go, whether it was a house party or a club party.

Mid to late twenties...fun, fun, fun! I decided I would throw my own parties (I hated driving on New Years Eve) – successful ones for a few years running. One of the best ones was the first one I ever threw. I lived in the attic of a Victorian house at the time. One of the guys asked if he could bring his guitar – he sure did, along with an entire band that ended up jamming in my bedroom because I had nowhere else to put them. I had about 40 people in my 3-room apartment and received noise complaints from the drunk downstairs (who we placated with a huge plate of food). Ironically, the born again Christians living in the same house never complained.

My dislike of New Years Eve began in my early thirties when my friends had begun to have children and were less interested in going to parties. My parties had begun to mellow out anyway, although in a good kind of way. The last few were held in the house my husband and I had bought and had really become respectable.  Food, not alcohol, had become the primary focus, although living in a cold climate allowed for beverages to be chilled outside. However, my parties had run their course. My friends were settling down and raising families and were not interested in parties.

Since my parties ended, New Years Eve has become a lost day for me. For a few years, my husband and I tried the “partying in the big hotel” thing, but unless you have a table full of people that you know, it really isn’t too much fun. The fancy hotel ballrooms pack 10-12 at an overpriced table. We found ourselves sitting with strangers with whom we spoke because we were proximal, not because we had anything in common. The most amusing part of the evening was the entertainment value of amateurs being overtaken my alcohol.

In our last few years in New York, we would spend New Years Eve at my parent’s home – full circle. We would eat dinner, then watch the ball drop and call it a night shortly after. Those are the ones I enjoyed the most.

However, for so many years, New Years Eve has never sat right with me. I end up going over the year prior in my mind and giving myself a mental flogging for all I haven’t accomplished. I blame society for leading people to have higher than normal expectations, including leading a glamorous life that doesn’t exist.

It is what it is.

Don't look so sad

It's not so bad, you know

It's just another night

That's all it is
It's not the first It's not the worst you know

We've come through all the rest

We'll get through this
We've made mistakes

But we've made good friends too

Remember all the nights

We spent with them?
And all our plans

Who says they can't come true?

Tonight's another chance to start again
It's just another New Year's Eve

Another night like all the rest

It's just another New Year's Eve

Let's make it the best
It's just another New Year's Eve

It's just another Auld Lang Syne

But when we're through this New Year

You'll see, will be just fine
We're not alone, we've got the world you know

And it won't let us down, just wait and see

And we'll grow old but think how wise we'll grow?

There's more you know, it's only New Year's Eve
It's just another New Year's Eve

Another night like all the rest It's just another New Year's Eve

Let's make it the best
It's just another New Year's Eve It's just another Auld Lang Syne

But when we're through this New Year

You'll see, will be just fine

©Barry Manilow