For some, today is another moment in the eternal (r)evolution of time. For others, this is the first day of an unknowable future. And for others still, this day constitutes fermentation; an acidic brew from which history will at some point emerge, revealing secrets about who and, perhaps, why we were. This sometimes celebratory, sometimes sorrowful, instant in time differs from one person—one perspective—to the next. Our response to circumstances defines its value or its insignificance. Today may be a fresh beginning or the continuation of the final chapter of an aching end. In other words, New Year’s Day has no intrinsic substance; it is another day to which we may or may not attach meaning.
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I stayed awake yesterday from early in the morning until early in the evening. I had no particular interest in watching the ball drop in Times Square—but considerable interest in resting, so I got in bed at the ungodly early hour of 7:30 pm. I slept off and on for much of the night. This morning’s headlines confirm that the calendar changed from 2024 to 2025 while I slept. Good riddance to an ugly, “lost” year. However, of course, we could look back longingly on 2024 when we encounter what 2025 brings. I hope not; the new year would have to be quite horrid for that to happen. During 2024, mi novia experienced the loss of her mother and her sister-in-law during the year. Two of my sisters-in-law learned they have breast cancer. The protective shell of democracy, worldwide, cracked. In the U.S., the yolk spilled out and broke, to the deafening cheers of domestic religio-fascists and other deeply stupid creatures. And my effing cancer returned, plunging me into a full year of unpleasant and uncertain treatments that have yet to show enough measurable success to give me reason for celebration. Others, too, outside my family but within my social sphere, have been gripped by cancer and other grim stuff. And large-scale disasters, both natural and triggered by human activities, continued throughout the year. It’s not unusual, really; but it’s harrowing, horrible, and hideous. Ach!
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One year ago today, I wrote that I had…a week earlier…considered buying a new car. By New Year’s Day, though, that desire had disappeared in a flash of good sense. Lately, I’ve been having the same pre-new-year thoughts, but I have (for now) come to realize that desire arose from stark-raving madness. I haven’t driven my car more than a few times in the past several months. The appeal of a new car is largely due to the promise of a smooth, quiet ride. After my treatments are complete…if, indeed, they ever are…I might start driving considerably more often. Until then, though, a smoother-riding car that’s rarely driven would be an obscenely overpriced deviation from my routine. My 9-1⁄2 year old car has only about 120,000 miles on it; replacing it now would be an utterly unjustifiable luxury. Tomorrow could be a different story, of course.
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I am living proof that one need not believe in religious dogma to find religious texts thought-provoking and insightful. A couple of weeks ago, I wrote that the Bible is a rich source of parables that have found their way into modern literature. Not only have those parables found a way into our culture, they have carried with them valuable lessons about humanity. I will always be disappointed in the fact that those lessons are so easily challenged, simply because they emerged from texts based on such bizarre supernatural concepts. But separating the lessons from the magic can be—and should be—done, in my opinion. Maybe the world would be a better place. Maybe not.
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My strength seems a touch better than yesterday; but the day has a long way to go. My mood has an even longer trek to make. Herewith, I begin the journey.
