The Best Way To Spend New Year’s Eve Is Alone

New Year’s Eve should be spent alone. There. I said it. It’s true, you know. You’ve probably never spent a New Year’s alone, except for when you were a baby, and though you were alone in your crib, flailing and kicking your little feet at the bars, one assumes the presence of your parents. In your teens, spending any time alone, be it New Year’s Eve or a Tuesday after school, between dance rehearsals was social suicide, your non-existence confirmed by the fact that no one has laid eyes on you in at least a few hours. New Year’s Eve alone in your twenties meant that you were certainly, definitely unlovable, resigned to falling asleep on the couch as a giant ball drops in Times Square and strangers exchange sloppy kisses on barstools around the country. You’re older now. Wiser. New Year’s Eve is for rubes. Spend it alone.

Too much rides on the New Year.  The delicious week of strange silence and being alone at work between Christmas and New Year’s is your reward for dealing with your family and eating the large majority of the cheese ball your mother insists on serving every year, without fail. Once you escape their clutches, by train or by boat or by overcrowded plane, and land in your home city, lugging a suitcase, you’re free. You are your own person again. Why ruin that peace with forced socialization, leaving the warmth and comfort of your home to put on a pair of tights and some shoes only to stand around a party you don’t really like, drinking a plastic cup of warm Champagne?

There are many other ways to spend this holiday, like swinging from a chandelier at a bar that you don’t remember coming to, or sequestered in a cabin in the snowy woods, or wrapped in the embrace of someone you met yesterday or the day before or the night after. These are fine ways to send the holiday, but think of your happy place — alone. Nude. In bed, with a caftan at close hand, for running to the door when the Seamless guy comes or standing on your fire escape smoking a joint and drinking wine. You’re alone! You did it. Everyone’s left your house because they’ve decided to subject themselves to the misery of a bar that charges money to enter, found only after wandering the streets of your city in a tipsy pack, covered in sequins and blinking lights.

But, look at you, you clever pet, you’re home. You ate what you wanted to eat. You talked to the people you needed to talk to. You called your parents. You can wake up tomorrow in a New Year, fresh and clear and clean, a vessel for positivity and light and green juice, or a bacon egg and cheese on a roll eaten not out of hungover impulse, but because you wanted to.

We make resolutions at the beginning of each year in an attempt to prevent the dregs of our past selves from spilling into the new. A new year is a do-over for your entire life, a way to look long and hard with laser-focus at what you did and what you’d like to do. Spend the night alone. Be comfortable with being alone. Inhabit solitude like it’s a place that you belong instead of something you’re afraid of. Enter the new year with the sharp itch of wanting to accomplish more and do better. Treat yourself to being alone. You deserve it.