Midnight Pub

May You Have an Uninteresting Year


I hope it's so easy as to be boring. I hope every challenge you face bows before you long before you see it coming. I hope every goal you set up as a hurdle a few meters in the distance is a single high step by the time you get there, sprinting to it, ready to bound as high as you can but suddenly not needing to.

I hope so little happens to you and yours this year that your chief complaint is boredom. When you find yourself muttering, "I could sure do with some excitement," I hope you don't get any. Not even an inch.

I hope you find yourself humming at the kitchen sink one morning without knowing why. I hope you find joy in the smallest of places and I hope it lingers with you the entire day. I hope seeing the first cardinal of the year early one morning is the reason you remember to hold your loved ones a little longer and a little tighter that night.

I hope your needs are met so easily as to make you a touch suspicious. I hope you spend the year so provided for, so comfortable, that you can take the time needed to examine the fears 2020 left you with and put them to use for the road ahead. I hope that in that process you come to see the resilience you displayed, how much more you're capable of surviving than you ever knew.

I hope you flourish. I hope you succeed at whatever goal you always suspected was dozens of years in the future. I hope you find that whatever 2020 has sucked from you has been replenished without you even noticing, as simply as making a fresh cup of coffee and getting back at it.

I hope every event in the new year for you is precedented, and where it's not, may it be novel only in that it brings you happiness greater than that which you have ever known.

Happy new year, everyone. The next round is on me.