A few days ago I met a new year. The day was a Monday. To be more specific, it was a cold Monday. I waited around on Sunday, a cold Sunday, to meet the new year. I was aware of the change that would be occurring. I knew that in a few hours I would need to start writing 2018, instead of 2017. Becoming accustomed to writing a new year could possibly be the hardest/ most frustrating part about starting a new year. In the last few days I have seen other individuals write the incorrect year; thus, it appears as though a lot of people struggle to immediately adapt to writing a new number.
As I was writing before I detoured, I was expecting the new year’s arrival. I was anticipating the arrival as I have anticipated the arrival of many years prior to this year. The day did not feel special as I’ve met many years and understand how year’s change. Also, the day was not too different from other days. What made the day different was the knowledge that when it ended a whole year would end with it. I stayed up as I have on many nights and behaved as I tend to behave. Well, I was cleaning up after myself more quickly than I tend to in order to not have to begin the year cleaning; thus, I now see that I was preparing myself for the new year while simultaneously attempting to act and feel as I would on any other day. At the moment, other than that slight change in urgency towards household chores, nothing felt unusual about waiting for Monday. Yet, when midnight struck I felt an overwhelming urge to cry. This urge confused me as I did not expect this reaction. I am still struggling to interpret my experience on midnight. Was I sad? Was I happy? Was I relieved? scared? terrified? anxious? overjoyed? mourning a year now gone? celebrating an arrival? a new year? a rebirth? I am unsure. Were my emotions aimed at 2017? or 2018? or something else? Was I just ready for bed? hungry? thirsty? I do not know. The fireworks outside guided me to acknowledging that, although I was focused on how the day was as other days, I was also aware of how it was/would be different. Although I might have attempted to treat it like a mundane, everyday, run-of-the-mill type day, I had also ascribed symbolic meaning to the day. The day symbolized a new beginning and literally represented a new tax year.
Despite my urge to cry, I was determined not to start the year with tears. Thus, as I have done on many days, I stood up, took a conscious step with my right foot, in order to begin on the right foot, and continued moving as I have on many years.