Celebrating the Ordinary

Yesterday at work, one of my fellow shift leads asked everyone how drunk they got on New Year’s Eve like it was normal and appropriate. As you can imagine, my whole body tensed as I tried to contain my rage. I never know how to react when I am out in the real world, and people talk about getting shit-faced like it’s no big deal. How is it possible that using this highly addictive drug and Group 1 carcinogen is considered a suitable way to celebrate the New Year?

While immersed in society’s excessive holiday emphasis on alcohol, I noticed a dip in my mood. For most of December, I was drowning in lethargy, resentment, and emotional mood swings. Sometimes I feel like an outcast. I feel like I did something wrong for not being able to “handle” booze like everyone else. My anger and shame for being criminalized were heavier than usual. It was easy to get stuck in a thought loop of hating everything and everyone, making hibernation sound like an enticing way to survive this season.

My New Year’s Eve festivities looked like any other midwinter night. I took my dog for a long walk downtown, lit some candles, ate some leftover lasagna, had a good cry, brewed a pot of tea, listened to a guided meditation, curled up in my bed with a book, and was sound asleep by 8 pm. There was no fancy party or sparkly dress. There was just me and my gloomy mood.

Luckily, the Universe gave me two not-so-coincidental things to chuckle about on New Year’s Day that helped lift my spirit.

First, before the sun rose, I got out my tarot cards and drew The High Priestess. The High Priestess is an invitation toward stillness and meditation. This card shows a woman sitting on her throne with her laptop and the moon at her feet. The High Priestess knows the path toward enlightenment lies within and is only accessible through a quiet routine, which is exactly how I rang in the New Year.

Second, I have a Word of the Day app on my phone, and ironically, my New Year’s Day word was iconoclastic, which means to go against generally accepted beliefs and traditions. Is there anything more iconoclastic than remaining teetotal on New Year’s Eve?

Now that the season has passed and my mood is restabilizing, I can see the New Year was an opportunity to reflect on all of the wonderfully soothing routines I added to my life in 2022. The development of my evening routine has been a lifesaver. It’s the thing that replaced dousing myself with ethanol after a long day. It has become my place of refuge, a spiritual practice, and the path home to myself.

If the New Year is a party, I celebrate the ordinary. My New Year was a continuation of self-nourishment instead of self-abandonment. There is something magical about returning home to myself night after night. Why would I want to ring in the New Year any other way?

The only intention I am setting for 2023 is to keep adding routines to my life that fill up my cup. All I want for 2023 is to be like the High Priestess and continue quietly down the path of self-discovery, even if that makes me an iconoclastic outcast amongst work pals.

Progress.