How To Count Down To Midnight

You count back to the first New Year’s Eve you were old enough to drink at bars. A few of your girlfriends convinced you buy a ticket for an event at the most cringe-worthy club in Portland. The one that had a slimy VIP section and played pounding remixes of Top 40 hits. You feel a wave of panic two minutes before midnight, so you tug on a stranger’s hand and prepare for an anonymous kiss. He was handsome, but it was mediocre and you ended up with a head cold for the next two weeks. 

You count to the one a few years ago where you went to an event that was more up your ally. You couldn’t believe the sounds you were hearing from the DJ set –trumpets and heavy percussion and noises you couldn’t pinpoint– and you remember looking around and thinking that everyone in the room was having a good time. He drives everyone home in the 16-person van he rented and becomes the hero of the night. But something was a little off the rest of the night, and that’s the memory that sticks with you the most.

Count back to the New Year’s Eve where you’re twenty. You’re working at a sports bar, and your shift doesn’t end until 1:00am, so you join the party late. You’re not sure what you expected would happen, but when it doesn’t, your stomach is in knots. When you walk down the hall to say goodnight, someone tells you not to go in there. You ask why, even though you know why. And you let them pay for your teary-eyed cab ride home. 

Count to being 24-years-old, when you finally let go of expectations. You’re recently single and feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest. The weight of not being in love with someone who’s perfectly nice and perfectly successful and perfectly smart is lifted, and you feel free to focus on what’s next. 

You count one year ahead to the party at the beach mansion. You feel like you’re becoming the woman you’ve always wanted to be. You’re a woman with “a bra, a blouse, and a schedule.” You’re a comedic adult writer-woman, like the protagonist in Obvious Child. You’re a woman who feels pretty good about herself and pretty content to be alone. 

Count to asking yourself why this is your [2nd] favorite holiday, despite only a few positive memories. Count to why the memories always fall around some sort of romance, or lack thereof. Count to growing out of expectations, and thus growing out of disappointment. 

Keep counting, and count down. Count down from 10. Count down to midnight, and share a kiss. Be a new person, or be the same. Be a growing, aging version of yourself. 

And dance after midnight, because that’s when it counts the most.