Nothing changes on New Year’s Day

Yup, I’m back from the holidays. All is well, nothing broken – well, at least I didn’t break anything. My mom did, though, thus sorta spoiled my plan, which included getting pampered 24/7.  Really now. You drive for something like ten hours, dreaming of dwelling in glorious luxury, of stuffing yourself silly with Christmas roast and cookies, and of handing the kids over to their grandparents, and what happens? The respective grandma goes and breaks her arm. Sheesh.

(Mom, in case you read this, I’m just kidding.)

Either way, Christmas was lovely, and I hope the same applies to everyone out there. Then along came New Year’s Eve. There’s a fine tradition in Vienna: as soon as the bells have finished tolling, a waltz starts playing, no, not just a waltz, THE waltz (Johann Strauss’ Blue Danube Waltz, and if this song doesn’t heal your soul, nothing will), and everyone dances into the New Year. Everyone but me, that is, because I have a husband who doesn’t dance.

(Love, in case you read this, I’m just kidding.)

Truth be told, I can’t really be bothered with New Year’s Eve, due to the fact that, as U2 so adequately put it, nothing changes on New Year’s Day. And that, in turn, bothers me no end. Think of it. A whole new year. Brandnew, spotless, empty pages, to be filled with joy, wonders, shiny pebbles and rainbows. And what do we do? We ruin it on the first day. I always keep away from TV or radio on New Year’s Day. I don’t want to know who was the first to ruin it. Who started another war, insulted another religion, shot another dozen kids. I want to, for as long as I possibly can, live an illusion. That this time, maybe, maybe, this time, we did it. We seized the chance we’d been given. This time, we didn’t spill ink on the brandnew pages. This time, every single person on earth decided to…to what? And here’s where it gets difficult. Because people. All different. Everybody has their own idea of what is good and right. And everybody wants to scribble on those brandnew pages. And naturally, they’ll start squabbling over who gets to hold the pen. Silly, isn’t it? As if there weren’t enough pages for everyone, or enough ink.

Anyway, here’s a – slightly belated – Happy New Year!

(I absolutely don't own the rights to this picture. I just love Calvin and Hobbes. Please don't sue me.)

(I absolutely don’t own the rights to this picture. I just love Calvin and Hobbes. Please don’t sue me.)

Go and break those resolutions, I’ve already broken mine. And remember, even if we, the human race, can’t manage to write something legible or worthwhile on those new pages, that doesn’t mean you as an individual can’t at least try.

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About angelikarust

My name is Angelika Rust. I was born in Vienna in 1977. These days, I live in Germany, with my husband, two children, a despotic couple of cats and a hyperactive dog. After having tried almost every possible job from pizza delivery girl to HR consultant, I now make a living knowing English. No, I haven’t yet figured out what I want to be when I grow up, whenever that may be. In the meantime, I write the occasional book.
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