New Year’s celebrations are funny things. Where 364 past midnights have passed by with
barely a whimper, this one on December 31st gets all the bang and
splendor of a world-changing event. Where people have slept through most of the
midnights of the year, extra effort is made to “stay up” for this one. For
grownups, New Year’s Eve is like waiting up for Santa, for the gift of new
opportunities, dusted-off hopes and dreams, a toast into the darkness, full of
glitter and noise.
I admit that I’m no different
than others in this respect. This last New Year’s Eve, I was with a small group
of seven Brothers who had gone to a rustic camp on the Russian River in
Northern California, one which we have owned since the 1920’s. Overlooking the
river, we had a nice dinner – the steaks were way too big for my newly
Singaporeanized tastes – and then people read or talked or went to the TV room
down the hall. About twenty minutes before midnight, we all went into the TV
room, watched the crazy people at Times Square with their semi-manufactured
excitement, and took part in the general wave of anticipation (with a
three-hour delay). Finally, amidst huge screens and light, glitter and noise,
the “ball” dropped and we all toasted in the New Year with a small glass of champagne.
Then we gratefully moved to our small bedrooms and forgot all about it.
Funny enough, the next
morning was pretty much as it had been the day before, and people were pretty
much the same as they were before. So where was the difference? We would now be
a bit careful when we wrote out a date, making sure that it was “2014” and not
the automatic “2013.” We would begin to work on a couple of personal
resolutions, usually surrounding weight and exercise. And we would have a
slightly brighter disposition for a few days or weeks, because something new
had begun.
It’s the celebration of
that newness, it seems to me, that makes all the difference for us. You could
even say that New Year’s Eve is a celebration of our capacity for newness.
Change is possible and exciting, no matter how small. Potential and hope are
ever nearby, waiting to be recognized. We may get distracted by buying new
clothes, new trinkets, new phones, believing these may fill the hole in the
soul. Yet each time it’s not really enough, doesn’t really do the trick.
There’s a “more” that drives our capacity for newness, and it is one that comes
from the drive of life itself, from an instinct to be part of this world, to be
alive.
Our capacity for
newness is also manifested in our sense of wonder and imagination. Mystery,
including the mystery of life itself, remains ever intriguing and captivating.
Just see the expression on the faces of children and the young at heart when
they encounter new aspects of the world around them. We say that they “light
up” with excitement, with the sheer brilliance of the newness of it all.
This capacity for
newness is something that requires sustenance and regular exercise, and not
only the annual slightly inebriated gesture into the night. Kids discover
newness best and do so naturally. Older folks with tendencies of ossification
have to be more intentional about it. But it is always there, willing to be
brought into the light of day, even if that light has to be made up of
exploding fireworks.
May you be well and
truly blessed with all the new that embraces you, remembering St. Augustine’s insight:
“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it
rests in you.”
