New Years Eve in Times Square

 

This time last year, Hannah and I were huddled together somewhere in Times Square with one million of our newest friends. We saw the edge of the ball drop. We heard Post Malone perform "Circles" but did not see him fall into the crowd. We fell in love with BTS and sang loudly along with X Ambassadors. We cried when they began singing "Imagine," and watched as a woman face timed her daughter/niece during the performance. Hannah spotted Anderson Cooper from what felt like a mile away and we were part of breaking some world record of the largest performance of the "YMCA" ever. We wore adult Depends and didn't need them because we ultimately dehydrated ourselves for fourteen hours for the chance to say we saw the ball drop in NYC at the end of 2019. 

Would I do it again? Hell no. Would I trade that experience for anything in the world? Fuck, no. 

That last adventure of 2019 was an escape from what felt like an impending doom that I could not escape from. Hannah let me have my moods, and I trekked through eight miles of NYC streets to the statue of Balto in Central Park to Mood Fabric so she could pick out cloth for a baby quilt. The dog, Swatch, humped my shoe. The best slice of New York-style pizza was from Kiss My Slice. I got to explore the Big Apple with my Ride or Die. 

Gratitude for the opportunities to explore. Gratitude for the relationship with my sister.

I plan to burn those damn 2020 glasses tonight, though.