I’m not one for making New Year’s Resolutions. But I’ve built up a handful of New Year’s traditions over the decades.
There’s the cliched gestures of celebrations — a good bottle of champagne, watching the countdown on TV, a shared kiss with Mr. Mezzo as one year turns to another. There’s also more idiosyncratic and introspective rituals — journal-writing, drawing a Tao card to discern the theme/intention for my year.
But however cliched, common, introspective or idiosyncratic, I have an entire bushel of New Year’s traditions that’s been a little bit off-track.
Because I slid into 2015 in much the same state I was recently bemoaning from so much of my 2014 experience: sick.