Happy Old Fogey New Year

I remember a time when celebrating the new year meant dancing so hard, you broke a heel on your shoe and had to hobble home through the snow, because you couldn’t get a taxi and the buses weren’t running. When you are young, -30C is a minor detail. When you’re my age, it’s a reason to stay home with a bottle of wine and some comfort food. Maybe rent a movie if you feel like staying up past ten. Which you probably don’t. If you do stay up to watch the balloon drop, I’ll guarantee that your spouse will be asleep on the couch when you kiss him or her at midnight.

I am full of admiration for older people who retain a balls to the walls attitude for celebration. Late nights, fancy clothes, uncomfortable shoes. Come to think of it, that describes me at no age at all, except for the late nights part. I have always enjoyed flannel over sequins. And yet.

I long to be the person who does a one eighty at age eighty and starts skydiving. The kind who learns a second language. Something hard, like Mandarin. Or finally learns to enjoy Sushi. Everyone likes it but me, even people from Flin Flon. But I really hate it. It seems so unhealthy, all that polished white rice with tiny bits of raw fish and seaweed. Yuck. Okay, so that’s off the list. This blog is definitely helping me narrow things down.

Before I’m seventy, I need to step up my game. Become braver and less complacent. So when the time comes, I will step out of my comfort zone and do something crazy. Not as crazy as eating sushi. But crazy enough to make myself uncomfortable. Like learning to hunt, or going deep sea diving. Since I haven’t had the courage to snorkel yet, the last one might be a long shot.

In eight years, I will be almost seventy. In 2022, if you remember, please ask me what courageous thing I’m about to attempt. Say it in a way that I can’t ignore. Extract a promise from me. Because if I’m not held accountable, I’ll never walk in high heels again. I won’t sky dive, or eat monkey brains, or even ride on a ferris wheel. I don’t want to die having been the same old boring person. And feel free to send me your own list. I’ll be sure to hold you to it because that’s one thing I’m already good at. And Happy 2016. Whew! Eight more years to relax.

Published by Judith Pettersen

Judith Pettersen is an author living in Canada. She blogs about her life in the north and the ups and downs of being a writer.

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