We’re a breath away from a New Year; one hour and 57 minutes of breathing to be exact. But who’s counting? As I take stock of the year that’s taking its final bow I have to say that I have come a long way when it comes to healing, post-divorce. At times I still got caught up in the recriminations and resentments that are part and parcel of that process and although they’ve lingered longer than I would have liked, I’m ready to see them exit the building.
It’s been a bit like watching a sunset as you drive East through two time zones: you know it will set eventually but it just seems to go on and on and on. And when you finally get to the place where the sun dips behind the horizon you know a cycle has been completed and you can breathe a sigh of relief.
It’s quiet here tonight with just my dogs and a glass of sparkling Pinot Noir to keep me company. A time for retrospection and wishes for the New Year and chief among them is my wish that this will be my last year spent alone.
To tell the truth, I was lonelier in my marriage than I am living here without him and the dimming of his presence over time has been a welcome thing. But as the anger and blinding resentments slowly fade into the sunset, a void is emerging that needs to be filled and I am finally ready to open myself up to the possibility of new love.
And so, I toast to the New Year as it approaches and I believe, as I do every year, that this untarnished year-to-come will be a winner in every sense of the word. I’ll eat black-eyed peas for good fortune tomorrow and as I watch the ball drop in Times Square tonight I will rejoice in my own small way for there might be a reprieve on the horizon, some magic in the forecast and some stories yet to tell.
And maybe 365 evenings from now I will toast in the next New Year with a kiss from someone who wants to kiss me and I will look back at this pensive moment and think how far I have come. And the mere thought of that is something worth toasting to. Happy New Year.