At time of writing, it’s New Year’s Eve, and there are less than 2 hours left of the year. With every milestone date that passes like this, it’s hard not to think, “that’s it?” It always just feels like another day, yet for some reason I feel like I’ve missed out on the reason everyone is celebrating.
Why does it matter so much? I can’t help but feel like something is wrong with me when everyone else seems to enjoy these big dates. Obviously, being nihilistic about things is never a good mindset, and the same applies here. But despite my awareness of that fact, internally I’m never able to shake the feeling that this is just another day like any other, and in truth nothing is any more different than when 2 days ago became yesterday. The only reason we give significance to New Year’s is because of an arbitrary measurement of time that we are solely responsible for implementing. So what’s there really to celebrate? My life certainly doesn’t feel like it’s going that great, what with the job searching going absolutely nowhere ever since I was laid off nearly 4 months ago.
Birthdays feel even worse for me, because of how specifically personal they are to each person. It’s supposedly a day for you and the people who care about you, and who in turn you care about, to celebrate you surviving another full year. Now, you could fairly point out that this is ridiculous for me to say after hearing how I describe New Year’s, and frankly I’d agree. Honestly, what difference is there between one’s birthday and the turn of a new year, other than the date it occurs? If anything, both can be seen as a celebration of the same exact thing, which is that you made it this far. When I read that, and when I hear myself say it, it gives both of these occasions so much more meaning than just “the number went up”.
So why am I still depressed about it? Why do I never seem to be any happier on these days compared to any other day? It feels like my life is falling apart, that I have nothing, that I’m moving backwards after putting in so much effort, that I’m broken and it’s my fault. Sure, it’s depression, but that doesn’t explain this feeling. Birthdays stopped being fun for me well over a decade ago, but it always feels more like a state of failure rather than just being depressed.
The only explanation I can think of is that, at some point in my life, I must have lost the real purpose behind it all. Maybe the meaning changed for me, and maybe it happened sooner than it was supposed to. I believe that meaning at this point in my life should be, “I made it, and I’m gonna keep going.” Maybe I started setting the bar too high for one reason or another. I wanna be able to pat myself on the back for going through all that shit that happened over the last 12 months of my life without judgment. I fucking made art this year. It doesn’t matter whether it meets someone’s standards or not. I fucking made something. That matters to me, and that mattering to me is all that should matter. Exactly 12 months ago, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to live on my own at all, I was sure that I’d let myself down. Despite everything that happened to me over the last 4 months, hardly any of it was truly my fault. I didn’t let myself down – I was let down. My employer failed me. Despite all that, I should be proud that I’m still here, and I have all my friends and family (both biological and found) to thank for it. I’m lucky.
Even if I don’t end up feeling the celebration aspect of New Year’s, or birthdays, or xmas or whatever, every time I get to experience those days is something I can point to and say, “I made it here and I’ll do it again,” if not for joy or hope, then at the very least, out of spite.
december 31st, 2024