New Years Day

Last night we were invited to bring in the new year with neighbours. We hadn’t planned on going anywhere or doing anything, but thought “you know what - why not?”. After pitching ourselves into their party, their circle of friends, several rounds of tequila, a few rounds of “Cards Against Humanity”, and some idiotic dancing in their kitchen in the run-up towards “The Bongs”, we said our goodbyes and retreated home - glad to have met new people, perhaps made some new friends, and were also very, very tired.

I should probably explain “The Bongs” for international readers. In the UK, despite advances in technology, the internet, atomic clocks, and whatever-else, when the country pauses a few seconds before “ringing in the new year”, we all turn our attention to “Big Ben”, and listen to the hammers strike midnight.

Big Ben is the name of the largest bell in the “Elizabeth Tower” on the corner of the Houses of Parliament in London. Most of the television and radio stations throughout the country pause programming in the seconds before and after new year to broadcast the chimes from the clock tower, live.

Anyway.

After sleeping in this morning, and filling in my tax return for the last twelve months - because who in their right mind does that on New Year’s Day morning - we wandered over to another friends for more drinks, more food, more conversation, and more, more more.

While I was grateful to be asked, and enjoyed meeting another round of new people, hearing their stories, sharing a few of my own, and doing my best at making conversation, I was also happy to say my goodbyes, to hug friends, and to escape.

I’ve always been a fairly quiet person - despite outward appearances. If you meet me at a party, you might think I will talk to anybody about anything - and I typically will - but it’s mostly a charade. I find it exhausting - walking the conversational tightrope with new people - trying to take an interest in their stories - to properly listen - not just appear to listen.

Moving from one conversation to another around a busy room almost feels like re-setting a board game over-and-over - introducing yourself again, choosing what to share, and picking your entry and exit points from conversations. Trying not to judge. Sitting on fences. Doing no harm. Putting your best foot forward.

Like I said - I find it all exhausting.

While a part of me whispers that there’s not much point in any of it - that a good book and a coffee would be a better idea - another part of me whispers that a new friend could be just a hello away - a sliding door moment that might re-direct the future. It’s a fear of missing out, isn’t it - a fear of missing out on a person you might meet and the stories you might share or even write together.

Meeting new people over the last few days has brought into focus the friends I already cherish - and served as a portent against the “grass is always greener” trap that so many seem to fall into.

Perhaps - looking towards the new year - friendships should become a focus. Rather than always moving forwards - looking for the next thing, and the next thing, and the next - there’s value in slowing down and reminding myself why I am surrounded by such a diverse and wonderful circle of friends.

Each of us has stories of how we met - how we entered each other’s stories, and how our stories have become woven together. I suppose it’s up to each of us to decide how those stories continue - and the only way to do that is by being present as the stories are written.