My problem with December 31st is just that…mine.
At the end of each year I trade in my personal expectations for those presented to me by various television shows, songs and movies.
Based on these, I can’t help but anticipate one of two following scenarios come New Years Eve:
1. I show up to ‘THE’ party. You know the one I’m talking about. The kind of decadent gala you step foot into and realize that though this is a night full of events similar to this, none can compare to the all out five alarm fire of festivities taking place right now. It is more than a celebration. It is a confirmation of being alive. At the stroke of midnight you need only take a look around to realize that this may very well be not only the best moment of your life, but a sure sign of things to come.
2. I get locked in a storage closet/ elevator with a beautiful stranger. What seems like a stroke of bad luck takes a turn for the romantic as we spend all evening baring our souls to one another.
Yet no matter how many soirees I attend or small enclosed spaces I attempt to get stuck in, neither of these seem to pan out.
See for me, New Years is about perfection. And nothing is…so it seems to be a lost cause from the start.
But that’s why I’ve always loved Rosh Hashanah.
I know that seems like an odd thing to say as most of the holiday involves sitting in synagogue for hours on end, but to this day I have never had a bad one.
It starts with the premise that I could always be a little better.
With the high holiday I know what I’m getting and I’m never disappointed. I eat a little apples and honey, I apologize to the people I’ve wronged and I forgive those who have wronged me.
All in all its a sweet new year.
That said, may we never take up the practice of shul hopping to find the perfect service, counting down to the shofar in Times Square or making out at the stroke of Tekiah Gedolah.