Don’t get me wrong: I love a good, glittery New Year’s party. But the older I get, the more appreciative I am to simply be around people I love when the clock strikes midnight and we erupt in sudden, spontaneous fits of happiness. Even if it’s just symbolic, the slate wipes clean and anything feels possible.
In the ramp-up to New Year’s, my husband and I usually have an informal review of the year that’s drawing to a close. And for a couple years in a row, it became a little family joke because Mike, forever the sunny optimist, would declare, I think this is our year, baby.
As scrappy sort of entrepreneurs, it was – and sometimes still is – tough going. When are we going to catch a break? When might we ever afford to buy a place of our own? When might things feel like they’re starting to click?
So I snapped up this card when I saw it couple years ago, and it’s been up ever since. But not because I’m still waiting for our magic year. More because I have come to realize that every year is our magic year.
I don’t mean to sound too Stuart Smalley. Like everyone else, there have been years when shitty things have happened to people I love. And it’s hard to untangle big, sad, unfair things from the memories of those years.
But more and more I realize: every year is our year. Just by the sheer and simple reality of being here and doing what we want to do, surrounded by people we love. Here’s to more of that. For all of us.