As the year winds down and the glittering promise of a fresh start beckons, I find myself drifting back to the New Year’s Eve parties of my youth. Oh, the expectations I had back then! A night of fun, frivolity, and a few (too many) drinks was supposed to be the magical gateway to a transformative year ahead.
You know the drill: this was going to be the year I’d finally lose weight, get fit, save money, land my dream job, and, of course, fall head over heels in love with someone who’d romance me within an inch of my life. New Year’s Eve wasn’t just a party; it was a launchpad for greatness!
Expectation: Sparkling champagne, dazzling company, a flawless countdown to midnight, and a New Year’s kiss straight out of a Hollywood rom-com.
Reality: Standing around in uncomfortable shoes, waiting in endless lines—waiting to be served, waiting for the bathroom, waiting for a taxi home, waiting for someone (anyone) to kiss me at midnight.
By the time I’d recovered from the “big night out,” which mostly consisted of shouting over loud music and wondering why my feet hurt so much, the reality of those grand resolutions hit. If I hadn’t achieved all my goals by January 2, I was already an abject failure, and the year might as well be written off. (Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration—my hope lasted until at least January 3.)
What is it about New Year’s Eve that brings out this duality of excitement and despair? Maybe it’s the pressure of a ticking clock, literally and metaphorically. Midnight strikes, the calendar flips, and suddenly the weight of a “new me” feels heavier than a midnight snack after all that champagne.
This Christmas and New Year season has seen me hobble to the end of the year with a good dose of COVID mixed in for good measure. Mind you, that is an improvement on past years where I’ve crawled to the end or could be found hiding under the doona cover, not wanting to show my face. Big events like New Year’s Eve have us hoping, in some way, that all that has gone before will magically be erased with the stroke of midnight—a bit like Cinderella.
Cinderella dreams of escaping her mundane life, finding love, and transforming into someone extraordinary, all with the help of a little magic. But even Cinderella had to face the realities of the clock striking midnight, losing her glass slipper, and returning to her everyday self. Her dreams didn’t evaporate, though; they evolved into something real. Maybe there’s a lesson in that for all of us—midnight doesn’t erase the past, but it can be the moment we take the first step toward our own happily-ever-after, even if it’s in mismatched socks and orthotics, instead of glass slippers.
As I contemplate the end of another trip around the sun this year, I’m ditching the pressure to make perfect resolutions. My goals are set for the coming year, carrying over from 2024 as I’m still working on my project. They’ll come with a healthy dose of self-compassion and humour. After all, life is more about the journey than the perfectly plotted destinations we envision after a glass of bubbly.
Tonight, it will be spent on the couch watching a movie—an evening of quiet solitude, reflection, and gratitude for all that has been this year. And there is a lot to be grateful for. My husband and I celebrated New Year’s with breakfast by the water this morning. We talked about what 2025 means to us and what we would like to achieve both individually and together.
So, here’s to embracing the unexpected, laughing at the missteps, and celebrating the small victories. This New Year’s Eve will find me sitting at home with a good book, and Wally curled up nearby. That’s not reality falling short of expectation—it’s exactly where I want to be.
Cheers to a perfectly imperfect year ahead!
