We all deserve a clean slate.
The new year is a big deal for some reason. Successfully orbiting our sun matters to us. I can’t say I know how difficult, or dangerous it was, but I’m sure it warranted a drink.
Manchester is currently the shining example of how ham we go on a NYE celebration. I have little recollection of my own NYE, but from the accounts of complete strangers who I ran into at the Guinness factory, I was absolutely destroyed.
For those of you that didn’t go full pagan, here’s what you missed out on:
My own mayhem was not quite the renaissance masterpiece above, but I did my best to try and drown the old year in alcohol.
Maybe it’s the promise of a clean slate with our hangover that pushes some of us over the edge. The need to obliterate the memory cells of whatever it was that made the last year so horrendous. The joy at being surrounded by the people you love the most.
We go out how we have to: Civilised drinks with family and friends, or pinned to the ground by feds.
Either way, we all deserve a fresh start.
With that fresh start come expectations. I mean it has to go better than the last. There has to be progress. I have to be better than I was.
I think I stopped making resolutions in 2003. There were only so many times I could tell myself I was going to be a teetotaling, non-smoking, gym fanatic who read 40 books a year.
I do alright as I am.
I will still get wasted on occasion. I will still have a drunken fag. I will read, but never as much as I could. I will work out, only as much as I need to in order to be able to eat two whole Nando’s chickens on my own.
Obviously there will be change. But it will come at its own pace.
My New Year is all about acceptance.
My resolutions were always about being a better person. Kinder, more tolerant, more forgiving. Or it was about how I could improve my life to fulfil some imaginary standard others would appreciate.
Showing the same kindness, tolerance and understanding for myself never occurred to me.
Moving past my short comings, be it getting so drunk I fall off a pier, or ignoring my intuition, is something I find hard. My failings are the sun which I have been stuck in orbit around for years.
Rather than trying to evolve into someone perfect, this year will be the year I embrace my dumb ass self for who I am. An alcohol imbibing, wise cracking loud mouth, with an occasionally impressive rack, and a life that often looks a bit like a Manchester high street on New Year’s morning.
Here’s to happiness and shenanigans in the New Year.
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