The turn of the year can be an awkward time. I must confess to having more miserable memories of New Year’s Eve and of New Year’s Day than happy ones. This year was typical in that respect. On Monday night I became quite grumpy.
New Year has many things working against it. For the Northern Hemisphere, the weather is invariably terrible. The holiday comes straight after another holiday, meaning that some of the obvious activities have already been used up and some of the familial relationships are already strained. It can fall in the middle of the week so does not fit the neat three day weekend pattern of most holidays. And the whole point is for everyone to stay up late, which is fine for people between 16 and 60 but not for those on either side of that range – and most families have plenty of both the old and the young.
Childhood memories of New Year are not good. My parents did not throw or get invited to parties and we did not have a large extended family, so we tended to sit at home and watch TV and try to pretend that we were really wide awake in anticipation, before working out the earliest socially acceptable time to go to bed after midnight. The TV choices were always truly terrible, with review programs interspersed with specials that were too bad to play at Christmas, and topped off with Scottish dancing. I guess that set me up for a lifetime of self-fulfilling expectations of grumpiness.
New Year in Scandinavia was a rare joy. Nordic people do rituals well. New Year involved plenty of drinking and some dancing, but not too much or with too much loud music. Many hosted a barbecue, typically crazy given the usual temperature, and there were lots of fireworks. Somehow the expat crowd was a good size for such gatherings and most people I knew seemed to be in the magic 16-60 age window.
By contrast, New Year in Holland was a nightmare. I positively hated it and dreaded it. A generally sober and organised people went collectively barmy, and the place became a war zone for the night. Everywhere else, fireworks involve large organised shows plus some stuff in back gardens, but in Holland it means every seven year old hurling small fireworks with abandon, ideally under passing cars. Restaurants responded by closing at eight and buses stopped running at nine, while driving meant dodging the terrorists. The only hope was a party invite within walking distance.
Last Monday night was rather typical of our US New Year’s experience. We went for an early evening trip to the old folk’s home where we volunteer, to help with their New Year party. It is cute: they organise a ball drop for 7pm, so that the old folk can enjoy a glass of champagne and even a wheelchair dance, yet still get to bed close to their normal time.
That left us free to drive to New Jersey to the party of the sister of the wife of the brother of my wife, a gathering of more than fifty in a small house. Philippine reunions always feature many kids, lots of food, karaoke (absent this time), problems with remembering the names of close relatives, and two or three lolas (grandmothers) who sit proudly on sofas pointing out which of the assembled throng are their offspring. We like that branch of the family very much, and try to spend time with my brother-in-law whenever they visit from Canada. The kids always bond well, but for the adults there is not much chance to enjoy a quiet chat amid the mayhem.
This year I was grumpy before I even got there, on account of a horrible drive in heavy rain. Visibility was shocking, not helped by our ageing car's foibles, but mainly due to terrible US highway street lighting. I also have to confess to a difficult new relationship with Waze, the route finding app. I have always been a GPS refusenik, preferring to use old-fashioned guides like maps and directions and compass points. OK, I know that is weird. But recently I have come to accept that Waze has some limited uses, for example when lost or when there are multiple possible routes and possible heavy traffic. Finding the house of these relatives did not qualify, but my wife typed in the address anyway, and Waze started to talk to me. Because of an accident on the Cross Bronx (nothing new there), it kept trying to direct me away from the obvious (and, in the conditions, safest) route.
Despite the best intentions of the weather, the car, and (especially) Waze, we arrived, and I had the good sense to choose to find a bedroom to lie down in for twenty minutes, since otherwise my sharp tongue might have ruined various family relationships beyond repair.
I emerged in better humour, to enjoy great food and some warm wine – not as much as I would have liked, aware of the drive home. I managed to chat with my lovely in-laws as much as space and prevailing noise level allowed. But then I noticed it was only 10pm, so I found myself on a sofa half watching network TV. Wow, it made Scottish dancing seem good! At least the dancers were not interrupted by terrible adverts every five minutes. The hosts were in Times Square, wet, wet, wet, and pretending to be having the time of their lives, introducing a series of tired acts performing tired songs with no passion. Diana Ross looked liked she had endured dozens of facelifts, and that more or less defined everyone – they were celebrities failing to be remotely authentic, just as celebrities tend to, all the time. I looked around the room and saw many people doing the same thing, acting, without any authenticity.
Soon after midnight, the TV switched to a lazily written episode of Saturday Night Live, not even live but a recording. The network, exhausted like those poor presenters, was obviously telling us it was time for bed. On my sofa, a distant relative joined me to ask whether Moslems were invading the UK as well as the USA. I was awake enough not to start a fight.
I managed to get the family home safely, including only minor further arguments with Waze, but I still felt grumpy. However, by Wednesday I was struck at how little it took to resume a positive mood. I tuned in to New York 1, and heard how 2018 saw the fewest shooting deaths since 1960 and that annual traffic deaths had reduced from over 300 to under 200 since the mayor launched his Vision Zero campaign. I wonder what they could achieve if they used streetlights.
So, apart from getting a rant off my chest, can I learn from these various New Year experiences? There is a lot. Sometimes it rains, and I should get over it. There is not much maturity in arguing with an app, so I should just work out how I want to use Waze and stick to it. Family is a gift, and deserves more grace than I gave it last Monday evening. Grumpiness is not a good trait.
One realisation is about a contented semi-retired life. I like my routine, and I struggle in times of the year when the routine is disturbed. I like my regular TV shows like New York 1 in the mornings. While it is lovely to have the kids home, it is also lovely to have my routine undisturbed.
There is another realisation about authenticity. I think I already reach out to situations where I can encounter people being unforced, whether in my choice of friends, movies or situations. I can use that realisation, in learning to accept other situations without getting grumpy, and in seeking even more authentic opportunities. Network TV on New Years eve is probably not near the top of the list for those; indeed New Year’s Eve itself is not all that conducive.
Finally, I should come to accept that the magic 16-60 age range will soon no longer include me. Indeed, it won’t be long before I might be the lola character in the room, so I’d better start accepting that, and doing a better job of remembering the names of my relatives.
I wish everyone a peaceful and healthy 2019. I resolve to do a better job at not being grumpy, at least for the first 364 days of it.
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