Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?

Christmas may be the time for cheer, but only a week later lies in store for us the beginning of a brand new year. Each time the holidays approach, it feels like one long blur. From firelight to Christmas lights to fire streaking the sky, it is undoubtedly a magically bright time of year.

Tonight I’ll spend the first minutes of the new year asleep, just as I’ve spent some of the last New Year’s past. Only this time, I’ll be on the tail end of recovering from the stomach flu, with a body and mind aching for rest, and with any luck from the god of New Year’s, reveling in a deep, warm sleep.

Before I spent my holidays puking from stomach infections, I spent a few of them puking from too much alcohol and fun, like so many of you when we were young. Days so far gone they’re almost forgotten. Not to mention, the drinking isn’t known for aiding in memory. Alas, it’s been seven years at least since I’ve had a single drink, and I can’t think of a reason to ever have one again. Though, the times when I had been young and drunk are no less valuable in the context of posterity and reminisce.

For a few years, my husband and I would watch my favorite (and subsequently one of his) movie, When Harry Met Sally to ring in the New Year. A quiet, private affair, we indulged in laughter and love and sparkling grape juice. I cherish the feeling of safety and warmth cultivated on those chilly winter New Year’s Eve’s, watching Billy Crystal scream “I was being nice!” and hearing my beloved chuckle at my side. This is a tradition we have let fall by the wayside that I sorely miss. If I wasn’t so exhausted from norovirus, I’d turn it on after this writing.

Lingering still in my memories are more liaisons worthwhile. It’s funny that we welcome our future with a centuries old song and even funnier that it should begin: Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? I find it very befitting of the occasion.

Before I got married, New Year’s Eve was a dreadful holiday. Such a lonely place. Our society views it a holiday for couples, for kisses. Not that I’m anti-romance, I’m not. Quite the opposite; I hated New Year’s Eve because I was a romantic, always fantasizing as a teen of a kiss to ring in the new year, to seal the fate of my future. A future I desperately desired and dreamed of: my great escape. For better or for worse, that fantasy never blossomed.

Yet, I have a few unforgettable New Year’s Eve’s. Stunningly wonderful, poignant, and lamentful. For as impactful as their memory is, the people in the memory have themselves dissolved into the ether of my past, too. Isn’t that the worst part of nostalgia, of reliving the past? That old acquaintance be forgot, and rarely brought to mind?

One year, I spent New Year’s with a group of men from my husband’s old fraternity from college. My husband was really into a video game that had just released and frankly was never interested in holiday parties much (especially if he had something else to entertain him). Having been trapped in the house for months with a toddler and a baby, I desperately needed a night out. And these guys were open to it, so of course I joined them.

The bar itself was small and black in the heart of downtown named the Peephole. A great namesake, since its inside is exactly what one would describe as a “hole in the wall.” From then I only remember bits and pieces. A few conversations from hours of chatter and laughs. Adult interaction, a temporary sanctuary for me from my recent transition from individual to homemaker drone. That’s why I found this night so important, and why I recall as much as I do: it was a refuge for my individuality, a hot cuppa for my soul.

In that little bar we sat, myself and 3 others, sharing secrets, trading barbs, and making fun of the electric juke box songs some drunken asshole played on repeat. Knowing these guys as I did, it was likely even one of them blasting the songs in secret.

The conversation was juicy and lively, surprisingly brimming with truth. I learned a lot about gay men. One person at the table even came out to all of us, with one of the attendees being his brother. I felt honored to be included in that courageous moment. I was also made to blush about a latent crush sitting at the table, and he blushed upon being identified. (This is something my husband knew about - nothing nefarious.) We shared our likes and dislikes. And we laughed. And laughed. And at ten seconds to midnight, we toasted and sang, and as the clock struck twelve one of them puked all over the table, forcing us out of the bar a bit early. I helped drive people home, and we all spent another hour just chatting and messing around, losing what was left of our youth. A night I will never forget with people I shall always smile upon in my recollection of memory.

Another blast from the past, another New Year. This time just a year or two later, I was at a low point. For whatever reason, my husband and I weren’t really connecting and I laid in bed as he watched tv in the living room. Those early years of adjusting to stay at home parenthood frequently left me feeling lonely, isolated, yearning for connection. In turn, I believe they left him exhausted with a need to recuperate solitarily. Each of us having different needs, I think it took us years to figure out a balance where we each didn’t feel neglected. Thus, I found myself lonely as I did as a teen.

I was in bed scrolling social media, desiring for some scrap of connection. Whether pictures or videos or just sentiments, I wanted to feel like I was welcomed in celebration somewhere. I stumbled upon one of my best friend’s mother’s live feeds they were broadcasting. They were having a lavish party, which wasn’t unusual - they held these parties every year for New Year’s. I always thought that was such an amazing tradition. Spending Christmas with family and then holidays with friends. Eventually I realized it’s because I craved some type of community, somewhere to belong consistently since childhood. Subsequently, I had been invited to said party that was now being live-streamed, but I couldn’t find a babysitter. Plus it was five hours away, and a huge pain travel-wise. Ultimately I didn’t go, and I did now regret it. It looked like everyone was having so much fun. Fun. A concept and old friend with which I hadn’t tangoed in ages.

After the live, the mom (who was also my friend), insisted on video chatting me more. For this, I was grateful. Having being a mother herself, I think she recognized my deep disconnection from society and wanted to alleviate my burden, even if for a few minutes. Still to this day I am grateful for her role in my memory.

Among my circle of best friends, I counted her son as one. She put him on camera and he promptly flipped me the bird and walked away. This was not uncommon, as we were like that, especially at that time. Secretly, it always smarted a little, but at the same time it’s just the way we were. She continued to show me around her home, introducing me to all her party guests. Everyone was absolutely lovely. Though I had deep regret about not attending in person, I found solace in the fact that these people spent an hour passing around the phone to keep me company in order to prevent me being alone. To this day it’s one of the nicest gestures I’ve experienced. It’s one of those moments where they likely thought it wasn’t a big deal to drunkenly chat up a strange young woman on the phone, but in reality it was a life preserver.

Eventually I asked her to hang up, as I didn’t want to keep them all night. They deserved to have fun too. Meanwhile, she tried to get her son to speak to me. He would wave briefly and walk away, the last time walking outside. It was done. I said a tearful and grateful goodbye. No longer did I feel like an iceberg in the deep blue sea.

About 30 minutes later, just before midnight, he texted me. Somehow, I knew he would. That’s one thing for years I could always count on, that we had each other’s back. We operated on a deep level of personal understanding that we likely both mistook for intimacy. Yet thats a story for another day. Nevertheless, he was there.

Once again, I felt the salve of belonging soothing the wound of abandonments past.

Now, that friendship and memory is nothing more, as Taylor Swift would say, than “a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere.” At least I have the memories of what it felt like to feel loved into the night all those times, into the new - with, and then without you. All of you. For aside from my husband, these people are nothing more than shadows in the recesses of my slowly degrading mind.

Looking back on years past is difficult. Tragically, nothing is the same. Yet thankfully, nothing is the same.

Where once I found New Years to be a deeply depressing holiday, for a while I found it soothing to my traumas. Now, I find it something to be ushered in with my sweet family, in my fortress of healed, safe love. No longer is it a holiday of longing, but one of hope. Hope for new possibilities, new adventures, new connections, and new joys. Hope uninhibited.

Now I leave you with memories, messages, and the wishes for a Happy New Year. I was certain I’d fall asleep early tonight, resting from illness. Then the loveliest thing happened - my husband asked me to watch our favorite movie to ring in the new year once again. Despite the fact that’s he’s snoozing away next to me, missing the iconic deli scene and the delivery of the line, “I’ll have what she’s having,” I can’t imagine a better beginning to 2024.