Man, 2017. I’m glad to see you.
You’re a sandwich in the bathtub. You’re a warm cup of coffee and a wool blanket on the deck. You’re the empty chair off to the side, where I can sit and watch everyone dance. Let’s hold hands, and decide what to do with all this time.
Leave the country. The baby is old enough. It’s time for red wine on a 6-inch hotel balcony, and toilets that flush in unexpected ways. Time to let the boys stay up all night, playing under the cafe table with plastic breakables we bought from a street vendor. We need some $3 sun glasses with palm tree frames because we forgot our fancy sunglasses and the sun is prominent. Let’s make photo albums of us with sunburns, and gelato cones, and palm-tree sunglasses. Blow this joint, 2017.
Let good enough be good enough. Sometimes I run fifteen minutes late, I forget to pack the thing, something rots in the fridge while we’re away. A year from now, no one will remember any of this happened. Except me, over and over again, on a repeat loop that needlessly plays in my mind. What is that? I’m meditating that crap all the way out of my brain-place. The baby does not need to wear pants full time. This will work, 2017.
Spend more time in craft stores. They have cordless glue guns now. Did you know this? I know this only because my mother-in-law has one, as I have not been spending enough time in craft stores. Is there a more-sparklier glitter I don’t know about? Advanced styrofoam ball technologies? To start, I’m getting myself that cordless glue gun, and I’m going to glue everything together in artistic and irreversible ways. Affixed, 2017.
Be polite. Less “telling it like it is,” more “telling it as I would hope we can all agree it should be” in the civilization we’ve joined forces to create. I’m gonna call people what they want to be called, wave at people who let me in their lane, go mum on politics and religion while we’re breaking bread together, disagree in a polite manner when we’re not at the dinner table, catch up on my thank you notes, say please and thank you, teach my kids to say please and thank you, and refuse to reward people whose main tactic for getting what they want is escalation. Weaponized kindness, 2017.
Dance more. My ankles have mostly healed, and I miss dancing. This is the year to spin with strangers who know how to dip without dropping you, waltz awkwardly at someone’s wedding, start with a shot of tequila and wake up with a sore neck. Boogie oogie oogie, 2017.
Happy New Year, sweet people. Good things for everyone this year. Especially you.