In what is a microcosm for mankind’s desires surrounding New Year’s Day celebrations, I had intended to get this post up on January 1 at the latest but clearly did not. Though the cynical part of me considers the failure to be the endemic aspect of this post, a more charitable view has merely the setting of goals as the essential part of the new year.
Novelty, newness, is a trait that captivates mankind. In so many areas of our existence man strives for the new. Newness in any form is symbolized by new life, and our reaction toward anything new represents this: our reaction is one of looking forward. Newness represents the promise of the future, the glory of things to come. Newness provides hope.
Unlike new technology or a new toy, however, a new year comes not only with the promise of the future but with the knowledge that that most precious of resources, time, is running out. As we see more and more new years, we think more and more about how many—or few—we have left to see. Much like birthdays, the more we see, the less we feel like celebrating. But with the new year as opposed to birthdays, all of society has the same thoughts at once.
And one of the responses is a combination of an attempt to recapture the promise of newness, of youth, of hope for the future, with a desire to use as best we can the time left: we make resolutions. We find the flaws in our life, the things we or others feel can be improved and decide to improve them. We vow, as mankind has done throughout its existence, that tomorrow will not be like today, that the future will be better, that this time, oh yes, this time it will be different. And while clearly this is an attempt to improve our own existence, it is also a representation of the promises of new life, a parallel of the great commandment of parenting: that we leave to our children better than was left to ourselves.
Sometimes we succeed, our lives improve, and much effort can be spent praising the practice of the resolution based on this, that sometimes we succeed. But as the cynical introduction mentioned, sometimes we fail. And this, too, is a microcosm of our hopes for the future. For our hopes for the future are a hope for perfection, and the promise of the future is a promise of the chance for perfection rather than perfection itself. What the future actually holds is some success and some failure.
So as we come together to celebrate the new year, recalling our past and resolving our future, we are in actuality celebrating a promise for the future—not a promise of perfection, but a promise of the chance for perfection. In celebrating this, we celebrate a microcosm of existence, In celebrating this, we celebrate life.
If life, if existence, is not worth celebrating, then in the patois of the world, you’re probably doing it wrong. Perhaps you should resolve to do it right.
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2 comments:
As I see it the older I get the less I feel like celebrating. Over the years I have seen my energy to party out the old year and party in the new evaporate away with age. I no longer have the desire to stay up and watch a glass ball drop down a pole to tell me that another New Year has occurred. It seems that with each New Year I retire to bed a little earlier. I lay in bed thinking about what physical aspect of my life will be painfully exploited as either not functioning properly or possibly not function at all. I soon come to the realization that at some point in my life I may not be able to achieve mentally or physically what I could just one year ago.
Most of my lack of desire to celebrate life at the start of a New Year is influenced by how life is viewed by society as a whole. If those of age were respected for the contributions and sacrifices they made while in the prime of their life, instead of being exploited, disrespected, abused and forgotten with the passing of years, life would be worth the celebration.
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