T
he fortune cookie said, "Good luck is not a
matter of chance, but of change."
As we hail the New Year, who among us does not think of
change, of resolutions? Many of these are in the Lentenlike form of proscriptions, to stop smoking, or drinking,
or to lose weight; in other words, we want to subtract
something deleterious. But what if we decided to add,
to animate, to achieve?
New Year's Eve is my favorite holiday, probably
because, like Halloween, it is pagan in origin, a last
access of hedonism, a moment of indiscipline before
one's promised austerities set in. It is also an occasion
to celebrate friendships, one's elective affinities, rather
than the forced ones of family. In ancient Rome, January
1st in the Julian calendar was dedicated to Janus, the
god of gates, doors and beginnings, for whom the first
month of the year is named. Janus, famously, has two
faces, one looking towards the future, the other towards
the past. We commemorate the passing year, on radio,
television and in print, by marking its exceptional events
and personages: a raging hurricane, a compassionate
Pope. Less publicly we mark also our personal landmarks,
births, deaths, loves and everything in between.
HYLAND
