There’s something sad about NYE. Life seems incredibly small, incredibly futile, at 00:01 on the 1st of January. The big dreams seem suddenly tiny. Like it’s all for nothing. No amount of fireworks can make it seem meaningful. I’m sure it’s just me playing to type.

But maybe not so much this time. I’m nihilistic to the core, I see nothing but absurd coincidence in our existence. We’re stuck on a rock that’s hurtling through space. There’s no big answer. It just… is.

But my attempts to grasp existentialism feel like a way out. I’m reading, I’m learning. Philosophy is my new obsession. Life seems meaningless, yes. But that’s not the end. No, it has no inherent meaning that I can see, and that used to scare me almost literally to death.

But that lack of meaning leaves a wide open space. To invent meaning. It’s a game. Be whatever you want. You have no purpose. In the nicest possible way, your life doesn’t matter. Choose your own adventure. Play the best version of yourself.

I always used to be sad at New Year. Making myself promises I know I can’t keep. But again, not so much this time. This time, I feel a shade of realistic optimism. Life IS good. I’m not about to make it good. I don’t need a New Year New Me. Nothing so vain, so desperate. I just wanna keep doing Me. I’m doing okay.

And it’s a small thing, but I’m sober. First NYE of adulthood where I’ve not tried to get even tipsy. That feels better than I could have imagined. Alcohol has not been good to me. I was scared to let it go, but I’m glad I have.

Tomorrow will be a fresher start than ever. Happy 2020. We live in the future.