
Anyone who knows me well knows that my favourite of all the holidays in the year is New Years.
Christmas, I could really take or leave: it has an interminable, commercially-driven lead-up that starts the moment Halloween ends; holiday travel is utterly wretched, as I lamented in my last post, and I don’t much care for Christmas carols (for all that my one and only successful songwriting attempt resulted in a modern Christmas song).
But once all the hoopla and mayhem of December 25 is passed, the sixth day after the fact is one I look forward to with excitement.
Now, I’ve never been to a swanky New Year’s Eve bash….
I’ve never rung in January 1 with champagne, a sparkly gown, and a kiss from a charismatic stranger at midnight.
The one time visited I New York City to spend New Years in Time Square, I was so many streets back from the action, the TV back at my accommodations offered the best view of ball dropping.
And yet, sexy celebration or not, I still love New Year’s, for I love new beginnings.
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