As I’ve written before, New Year doesn’t feel like an arbitrary, notional event to me. I hear the click as we roll over on to the new track.
Listening hard for the click, this year.
2016 was a hard year. It would be comforting to think we jump to a new track today, and pull clear of that shitbox of a year. That 2017 will be better.
It’ll be different. It’ll be interesting in many fine and terrible ways. It’ll be sad, if not in precisely the same way 2016 was. I’d love to tell someone that it’ll be better. But I think we were all fooling ourselves with that notion that years get better, just as we fool ourselves into thinking each year is starkly fenced off and the space ahead is virgin field.
It will be memorable. It will have beauty in it, and new things, and it will sing and light up skies. There will be joy.
Will it be better? No. But I trust that it will be worth sticking around for, and that it will not be boring. That’s enough for me.