When I was young Christmas Eve was a time of wonderment, and New Years Eve was pure magic. I would force myself to stay awake, all night long was the goal, but back then the definition of all night long didn’t exactly mean midnight. Instead it meant whenever I managed to last until I ended up collapsing in a heap of sleeping child.
There was magic in watching a large ball on a huge stick slowly fall down, and the mystery of fireworks rocketing rough the air were a sight to behold.
In my early twenties the magic changed to spending New Years Eve in the arms of a partner, as though there was something tragic about seeing the year change as a single person.
And then somewhere. Some time it all stopped being of interest to me, it simply no long mattered. The magic, the smoke and the mirrors all seemed so silly. Instead it became a time to reflect, a time to be grateful and appreciate my life. It became a time to remind myself of goals and plans, of loves and losses. An accounting of sorts really I guess.
There is a different kind of magic to this, it is a magic I can hold on to and feel it spark within me and warm me. It is a magic I can easily share with others and it isn’t just to the mark turning of a calendar, but rather can be pulled out and used whenever I feel like it. And there is magic within that too.
I like the magic of being human, the magic of love and new opportunities. I love the mystery of trying different things, going to different places and learning about other people, who really aren’t that much of a mystery because they are human too.
So as the calendar changes, flipping one more digit higher my reflections, appreciations and loves will also grow in number. I’d sooner flip those forward than focus on a number.