It was 11:55 PM, December 31, 1989. The suburban street, illuminated by the myriad of Christmas lights led to the cul de sac that held the yearly New Year’s Eve party hosted by the Stewarts. Louis Armstrong’s “What A Wonderful World” was muffled by the prevalent chatter by men and women, reminiscing about the decade that was roughly coming to an end in five minutes whilst sharing their goals and aspirations for the upcoming and promising new generation to anyone who would care to listen.


A man- six feet tall, with shaggy brown hair that still cow licked in the nape of his neck no matter how much he tried to tame it with a brush, hazel eyes covered with thick framed glasses, early thirties, approximately 160 pounds, sporting a white crumpled button up, a pair of brown corduroy pants, and a navy colored blazer- quietly escaped through the front door, blazing a trail in the snow, estranging himself from the festivity filled with nondescript individuals who all- and in some cases, pretend to- have the same interests that thus generated the same mindless chit chats that he never really cared for. The ubiquitous nostalgic feeling for his adolescent years that did not include any sort of responsibilities which he longed for left a lugubrious expression on his face, with florid cheeks and frosty lenses caused by the 10 degree Celsius weather.


As he pondered over the previous interminable year filled with tedious paper work from his 9 to 5 job, it left a sense of regret in his heart, so rife that it overpowered every sense of feelings he had in that moment. Trudging along to the other side of the now dim lit street, with only the moon and stars as a source of light, legs knee-deep in snow, he had an epiphany. No longer would he dwell over the past, but rather, abjure a new self to experiment with identities until he found one that made him happy and satisfied. To completely disassociate himself from his old nuclear life, he decided to be the exact opposite of his previous traits. In two minutes, as soon as the clock declares the start of 1990, he would become a zealous individual who would jump at every opportunity without a second thought, someone who would get out of bed before 7 AM so he could, for once, greet the sunrise, someone who would strive for equanimity in his life rather than living vicariously through the chaos he was too lethargic to face, someone who would converse with his peers in vernacular to avoid being an anomaly who only spoke in poetic prose.


“Yes,” he mused. “I will try to rebirth myself. How’s that for a New Year’s resolution?”

With that thought running over in his mind, he decided to truncate his midnight stroll to nowhere by stopping at the middle of the street and lying down on the sparkling white snow. He took out a box of his propitious cigarettes, given as a Christmas present by a relative he couldn't bother remembering the name of, ignited the tip, and inhaled. With a puff of ringlets of smoke into the cool, frosty air, he could faintly hear the countdown everyone was zealously chanting.


Five, four, three, two, one. Happy New Year.

The burst of cheers and applause that suddenly exploded from every household compelled him to smile.