(What a glorious word).
So. The eve of a new year is upon us.
Seriously; doesn’t it just feel like the turnover to twenty-fifteen was a mere month or so ago? It honestly feels like 30, maybe 40, days before now that I was roaming around the campsite at Rhythm & Alps having lost all my pals (barging my way through to the front of the mosh is all in good fun when at one of the stages, but not so much when said stage act has finished, you’ve ditched all your raging comrades,and all cellular devices have died), beyond freezing cold to being borderline hypothermic (the ladies in the emergency tent were grand though; the silver tinfoil blanket thing worked a treat. And although they told me to not leave the facilities as I was very frozen, I’m sure they weren’t too fussed when they turned around to find I had snuck under the tent flap and hurried off to the next act for the countdown) and frantically dialling Henio to come and pick me up (not paying mind to the fact I was down in Cadrona Valley and himself and Deb were guzzling Jimmy and Astrolabe respectively somewhere on the Coromandel).
But this year I am not frolicking about a festival. I pulled out of plans for Whitianga to reign in 2016 as what with traipsing over to Europe in March, I decided I needed to put on my sensible, saving pants and not cavort off to the Coromandel for a week (something about festivities, friends and fun has me parting with vast amounts of money; thought best I should remain away from the situation that would have me spending).
Oh congrats! I told myself. Good girl. Jolly smart. An adult really! Hoo-rah.
Yes. Fantastic until the last few days when Snapchat and Facebook have been bombarded with snapshots of pals at the beach, at R&V, on an overseas jaunt. I mean seriously Meilissa, CANADA?! On a whim?! And like 237 of my chums (ok, 7) happening to be in Hahei and sending selfies of them all at Cathedral Cove at 11am by chance? I’m experiencing a major case of severe FOMO. But it’s not even FOMO; it’s pure MO. I’m literally missing out.
Unfortunately I am one of those people that gets saddened and rather green when I see al else out having fun. I want to be there, in the thick of it, being a menance in the midst, partying in the pack. But I signed up to be the selfless (well, needing savings) soul to work New Year’s Eve Day. Meaning I’m in Cambridge. I know.
It’s not the first time; I’ve had NY here twice before now. The first had me and two pals putting the foot down to get back from R&V in time for me to start my 10am shift on the 31st; fantastic after five days of going hard amongst the vines. The second I worked the whole week but the whole load of us gathered after closing and had an absolute rad parlay (because it’s so much better than the standard party) that I thoroughly found fun.
So this year I wasn’t too bothered. I’d find my fun, I decided. I even flirted with the idea of taking Otto the Schnauzer out to the lake and welcoming in twenty-sixteen with him, me, a bottle of red wine, some yoga and some deep and meaningful milestonic thoughts and resolutions. But then I found out a friend was having a party and decided that’s a bit more of me.
This morning when I woke up to about 17 snapchats from mates at the beach/Gisbourne/Queenstown/[insert-other-place-of-significant-jealousy-here] I had a little bout of self pity as I got ready to work (I mean, what are the chances; my little brother in Watson at R&V happens to be stumbled upon by a guy I went to Uni with that had never met before, but recognised him from FB and decided to send me a vid of them together? Hilarious. But hurtful. I wanted to be amongst!) but I lifted my head high. I had India and Nepal this year, I told myself. And Europe extremely soon. Who knows where I’ll be next year? DOn’t be sad or jealous. It’s all A-Ok.
And it is; I found out two girls I work with shall be out on the town (and I always have the most fantastic times with them). Another pal who had a baby four months ago is out for the first time since giving birth. Plus my best friend and her husband are out on the tiles (and he’s always keen to get plastered). And I got a bottle of Three Stones pinot noir for $8.99 on a Onecard special. I mean, what more a sign could you need that it’s going to be a good night?
I’ve also written up a little notebook of resolutions. Actual achievable ones as well. Things about being in the now, being more patient and tolerant, that sort of lark. I’ve decided 2016 is to be the year of complete and utter Ultrapop (with only teeny, tiny and sporadic bouts of not being so). I’m going to have full faith in my abilities, talents and capabilities, not be so stupid with thinking I don’t have enough time, get out of my comfort zone on the often and be the person I want to be but that I have been falling a little short of of late.
2016 shall be my year that I shed the shit, so to speak. The year I do what I dream of, tick off a vast number of the boxes on my life-to-do list (aka, bucket) and be the version of me that I’m proud of.
And I will. Roll in January 1; I’ll be awaiting with a fair few fun-filled pals, the dregs of my Three Stones, and a fuckload of determination, optimism and cheer.
Let’s rock the shit out of this life thing, yeah?