*This is the first entry for the new 2021 podcast Failing Better -- where successful people talk about the time things went wrong. Look for it soon at failingbetterpodcast.com The party didn't happen this year. In the tradition of my parents, each January 1st my husband and I fill our home to the brim with good food and good people. Our annual New Year's Day open house has become so popular with friends that people have to squeeze through sideways to make their way from the living room to the kitchen to get their cocktails from my husband. If you arrive early you may get a coveted space by the Christmas tree. Guests can also be found leaning against walls and furniture or perched in deep conversation on stairs, and their coats form a small mountain on our bed. On the upstairs landing people jockey for a spot on the small couch or draw up their knees on the floor while others belt out show tunes at the piano (Did I mention we are theater people? Oh, well – we are theater people). On New Year's Day, the house is just the way I like it – full of love and music and laughter. On days like this, the first failures of the year may pass barely noticed. A botched cocktail, a spill on the couch, calling someone's new girlfriend by the wrong name. Not great, but easily fixed and forgivable. It's a fresh new year and we're doing what we love to do – making people happy. And that, it seems to me, is one of the best possible ways to start a new year. I wonder sometimes, if parties like this are entirely a thing of the past. In the post-Covid years, will anyone still want to pack together like sardines, brushing up against 15 other people for a pomegranate-champagne cocktail? But for this year at least, we knew that hosting the party wouldn't have been wise. So to avoid the mother of all failures, and to keep our loved ones safe, Peter and I spent January 1st on the couch, wrapped in blankets, binging on Netflix and leftover Christmas cookies. You're welcome, people. No sacrifice is too great for you.
At the beginning of the day it wasn't so bad. A breakfast of vanilla butter rounds and a viewing of Death to 2020 seemed silly and decadent. A snack of caramel corn and The Prom –OK. The whole first season of Mrs. Maisel and a turkey breast and mac and cheese was just comfort. Right? By the time we broke into a Sports Night binge I remembered why I don't do this often. I am not built for it. Truthfully, all day I kept thinking about people who were hungry or people who were lonely or people who just needed something when we had so much. Welcome to the thought process of an Irish Catholic kid. I mean on the average New Year's Day I'm serving up cocktails and comfort food at a point in the season where people have had their fill of cocktails and comfort food – I'm not out saving the world. But I'm at least creating community. And that is something. Isn't it? Anyway, the truth of this story is somewhere in between hedonism and martyrdom. In the light of day on this January 2nd, maybe I didn't help anyone on the first day of 2021, but I didn't hurt anyone. And I rested. On the first day, I rested. And binged a little. And spent some quality time with my husband and my Christmas tree – my favorites. Usually in that order. And truth be told, I woke up this morning genuinely feeling rested. And ready for 2021. There are places to go and people to help and things to create and beautiful successes and some failures to from which to learn. I'll tell you all about them at next year's party. It's going to be off the hook.
1 Comment
Laura G
1/2/2021 11:58:41 am
Oh Mary.... this was lovely. I can’t wait to read more. We all missed you, and the party, and the cocktails from that wonderful bartender we all love and adore. But it will happen again. We’ll all muddle through somehow and be better for it. Then we’ll gather again and remember the year we didn’t, all for the greater good. Xoxo
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