As the old year passed into the new, last night, I celebrated by cycling along the seafront. It was a warm, dry evening, and half the city, it seemed, had turned out for a giant, midnight beach party. There were bonfires on the shingle, and family groups of revelers stretched out along the prom. In the minutes coming up to midnight, faces glowed in the darkness in phonelight anticipation as people checked the time. Then, in an unsynchronised fashion, rockets began shooting skyward over the sea. Across the Solent, as if in response, the sky above the Isle of Wight was filled with bursting bouquets of light. And at the stroke of twelve the boats in the black water that divided us from them sounded their horns in a discordant and mournful drone. Were they crying out in celebration? Or were they grieving over another lost year?
Once more, a new year has crept through the dark days of December and taken me by surprise. Only yesterday, it was Christmas. And a week before that it was Bonfire Night - another night of sky rockets and questionable celebrations. Time passes quickly these days, compressing and condensing until it seems there is barely any of it left.
I know I'm not the only one who is gripped by bouts of melancholia this time of year. Perhaps it is just the lack of serotonin that makes me turn inward, or the fact that this second Covid winter is quickly heading into our third Covid year. But whatever it is that tries to pull me down during the long, dark evenings and often grey, damp days, it needs to be resisted. Yes, there is much in the world to mourn, but there is also much to celebrate. And so I choose to count my blessings. For despite lockdowns and lateral flow tests, the omnicron tsunami and reimposed mask mandates, there has been an abundance of blessings during the past year for which I have to be thankful. Just as I know there will be in 2022.
Today, we start again, all fresh and clean, with high hopes for the year that lies ahead. I wish you all the happiest of new years!
Comments