And what have you done?

Last night I attended a New Year’s Eve house party in a chalet in the woods in western Newfoundland. Being the only single one of the bunch, I had a brief moment of panic at about five minutes to midnight. I wasn’t sure whether I’d feel like an outcast or a huge pervert sitting there, surrounded by a zealous smooch-fest. I considered going to the bathroom right before the countdown. But did I really want to ring in the new year faux-pooping? I was momentarily torn by indecision.

Unconsciously, I threw on my boots and coat and walked out into the snowy night. To prate about how magical the fat, fluffy snowflakes looked falling against a backdrop of fireworks and a silhouette of tall, ancient evergreens would probably bore you but… Suffice it to say: awesome.

…Ok, it’s not sufficed: It was pure tranquility. I literally (yes, as in actually, physically) swayed with the lull of popping fireworks and “happy new year”s. But more prominent than the soothing background hum of jubilation was the immediate peacefulness. The stillness. I felt the expanse of the black sky around me, promise in each flake. And it was perfect. It was a moment that could only be savored in solitude. I felt really grateful that I’d agreed to be my date for New Years.

I didn’t put out though. So…I mean, ya win some ya lose some, right?

Go forth readers (mom) and rock 2012. It’s gonna be a good one.