Countdown to the Inevitable
An end-of-year resolution
If you’re like me, you might have spent a majority of 2023 in a negative mental space.
I mentioned in my most recent post that in social psychology, I’ve learned that it’s how any situation ends that matters most regardless of how it played out a majority of the time.
Since then, I decided that I didn’t want my year of challenge to end as such, with loose ties, ruminating all throughout 2024 as to why 2023 could’ve been better and what I could’ve done differently — I wanted to befriend the last two weeks of the year.
Though, per usual, life had another plan for me…
Week 1
As I meticulously planned out the next two weeks before me, I pictured how I’d end the year: as a winner of a track meet, with my hands victoriously above my head, smiling, as I dragged the blue finish line ribbon with me as I eagerly and smoothly waltzed into 2024.
Which, for a few days, seemed promising — I journalled what felt like every hour, desperate to detox my mind and heart.
Quickly, a new wave of ceaseless thoughts kept lingering in my mind: How am I going to organize this for a blog post? How am I going to write this? What should I title it?
My goal to become friends with the end of 2023 soon became more for show and less for myself, more for love and less from it.
I had to realize these thoughts, too, were part of the problem, which meant they had to go.
I told myself I wouldn’t blog a single word until the next two weeks came to a close.
At least something went as planned.
After a few days of finding promising balance and enthusiasm for better days ahead, I became sick…profoundly and remorselessly physically ill, which I’m still attempting to fight off to this day, almost two weeks later.
I was in so much physical pain and discomfort; I grew desperate.
Most of my time was spent binge-watching SpongeBob or movies, growing tired of Pinterest (which, I didn’t think was ever possible), and overthinking while lying in my restricting affliction.
Gradually, my mental health, once again, turned and remained sour.
Week 2
My zeal fluctuated between hope and hopeless throughout the week as I’d nursed myself back to as much physical health as possible.
Though, I’m thankful to have spent the final hours of 2023 with people I care about.
5 hours from midnight
I arrived at my sister’s small New Year’s Eve party, still decorated for Christmas; I joyously greeted her and my one-year-old niece (a corgi named Nala), and made my way to the set-out snack table and drinks — I poured myself an equal amount of André champagne mixed with diet cranberry-pineapple juice as I indulged in chips, cookies, and almond bars I’d brought as my plus 1.
A small part of me — a part of me I’ve been trying to completely rid of for years — whispered to me, Have some more champagne, and don’t stop until the thoughts/feelings do…
I tapped out after two glasses, passing on the sugar-filled Root Beer, finding a close bond with the water cooler throughout the night.
4 hours from midnight
Already full to my stomach’s brim with snacks, I was faced with a grilled teriyaki chicken (my favorite) and potato wedges, which my sister kindly left the garlic and onion powder off of mine and mine only — my stomach’s intolerance to such vigorous spice thanks her endlessly.
3 and 2 hours from midnight
My teammate and I won Connect 4 Shots, I was accused of cheating in Uno and collectively was told I had to forfeit my “win” …and I was dealt an overly zealous partner for Taboo, which costed us the game.
My sister handed out giant sparklers.
I ate more chips, followed by a hot green-dandelion root tea with yet another almond bar.
I had to use every ounce of my volition to not pour another glass of champagne.
For a reason beyond me, parties bring out my desire of profound indulgence…however, I’m thankful it’s progressed further from alcohol.
1 hour from midnight
I felt as if held hostage.
As someone who’s used to being in bed mostly around 9:30 p.m., I was beyond ready to be home.
My sister didn’t allow this…as she’d made, a rather innovative, balloon dropper, set to release countless colored balloons as midnight, and required a promise from me to stay for this event as my ticket of entry to her house to begin.
Defeatedly and helplessly bound by promise, I sat myself down to watch a previously recorded New York celebrate their final hours of 2023 in Times Square, which happened two hours prior…to say I was jealous is an understatement.
30 seconds from midnight
My sister, tunnel visioned and scrambled, suggested everyone grab their blow horn, which was given to me in my champagne glass before the night began.
By then, I’d misplaced mine.
Desperate and pressed for time, I grabbed one that was similar to my own, rinsed it with hot water and disinfectant soap, and placed myself next to my sister, beneath her pride and joy of a balloon dropper.
10 seconds from midnight
Nala was sitting in front, facing me, as I chanted numbers backwards to her…she looked confused.
Confetti dropped all across Times Square as the notorious sparkling ball gently tapped its final destination on the T.V. screen.
My sister’s living room filled of lively blow horns; Nala left.
Instantaneously, as countless balloons seemed as if to be falling in slow motion, all the anguish, anger, and longing I’d carried with me throughout 2023, rushed into my mind and heart once more.
I always wondered why substantial life events and moments as such re-welcome unresolved past woes.
