New Year’s Eve is my favorite holiday. I live for the sequins, the champagne, and the bittersweet magic that comes with the closing of a chapter. So why is it that every year, despite my high hopes, NYE always lets me down?
I’ve been subjected to the downtown chaos and I’ve done the uneventful nights in. I’ve been dumped TWICE on New Year’s Eve. One time I went in to kiss a guy at midnight and he gave me a high-five. Seriously. I think the last time I had a solid NYE was in 7th grade, at my friend Samantha’s sleepover. Her mom let us stay up until 1:30 and drink sparkling grape juice and it was the GREATEST.
And yet, even with all of my mishaps and misfortunes, I still believe that each December 31st will hold more magic than the last. That’s the thing about the hopeless romantics. We constantly put these unrealistic expectations on people, places, dreams, even days on the calendar. My hope for this year is that I will place less trust in my whimsical daydreams, and more trust in myself.
I’m making an album right now that is centered around this very idea. I can’t wait for you to have it. It goes through the (messy) story of my 2018—the wine, the parties, the people I used to distract myself, and the pain I felt when they left me disappointed and empty. But of course they did. Because, at the end of the day, the only person who could really solve my problems for me, was me.
With that being said—NYE, I still love you. Please be better this year.