I don’t like New Year’s. There I said it. Bah humbug on me.
I can’t quite put my finger on it. There are many reasons, actually; perhaps that’s why I can’t choose just one.
It could be because, for years, it signaled the end of vacation. One day left to recover from a whole week’s worth of revelry, never mind one night of staying up late. But also, the start of a new cycle of anxiety. First, back to school as a student after no routine, no work, no peer pressure. Then, back to school as a teacher after no lessons to plan, papers to correct, or kids to sass me and throw my class off course.
I never even knew exactly what I dreaded. And I guess that was precisely the point. The unknown. I was out of my groove and didn’t know what to expect upon jumping back into it. That was what terrified me.
And then I had kids. Little babies at home who depended on me and only me when Daddy went back to work after the holidays. Where I’d been easy breezy and in control with him home, the thought of doing the same things without him under the same roof made my muscles clench. Not because I couldn’t or hadn’t before or wouldn’t now, but because of the unknown. What if something happened I couldn’t handle?
On December 31st, I shovel enough calories to counteract the headache-inducing powers of the bubbly I’m sipping and learn just how out-of-touch I am and how sad the state of popular music is by the broadcast performances. I eat and sip and flip channels to force myself awake till the magic hour when all I’d like to do is curl up and go to sleep. And for all that build-up, all that empty effort, all that’s left after a sweet kiss with my hubby – is a void.
Outside my house, barely lit by the moon. Lack of light fits the theme. Taken December 30.
The absence of a year past, the new one not yet started. The hole where merry holidays once were. A cold, dark, silent winter stretching before me. Exhaustion. Let-down. The unknown.
To say I ponder the absolute unknow-ability of an entire upcoming year in one night would be false. At least not consciously. But perhaps that’s part of why I hate New Years. Each year, with December 31st, I’ve closed an expected chapter in that point of my life. I’ve made it through the holidays, with all the tradition and routine that comes with. I’ve made it to the end of the calendar year. Even if I’ve not completed all the to-dos, I can rip that page out of my proverbial planner because that time has passed.
To what? Is the question.
To a person with anxiety, a new beginning, a new chapter is not a fresh start. It is a worrisome reworking of the same fears and uncertainties that plague her at the outset of any unfamiliar venture.
When these same feelings return at the end of each holiday break, I wonder if I’ve ever grown up or grown past the fears I had as younger versions of myself. I haven’t taught for ten years – why should I still fear returning to work!? Well, I do and I don’t. A nightmare classroom doesn’t await me. But as one of the highest stress times of my life, that scenario is my psyche’s go-to when it fantasizes fear. And in that all too familiar low after the holidays, it’s easy to build the set for the familiar script.
Now, both consciously and subconsciously, I get to ponder what I want from this portion of my life. I get to question my worth as a mother, why naptime may be the favorite part of my day, why I don’t get down on the floor and play blocks anymore. Why I swear, why I say things I judge fictional mothers for saying, things that make me sure I’m killing their spirit but utter anyway. I get to think about how much I want to write, and what, and how I don’t have time for that. I get to choose how to mete out my volunteer time and what I feel I have to do, not what makes my soul sing because I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. I get to think about how the days fly but are often filled with crap.
This has been a New Year’s tradition for so long, it’s hard to separate out what is holiday ennui and true anxiety. I’m beginning to think the anxiety is the one sure thing that isn’t going to change from year to year.