Riot Rockette/Cheez/Chase/Orangesushistar
Another year has gone by—or so some people say. What they really mean is their calendar has run out of pages. The ending of one year and the beginning of the next is an arbitrary decision, growing out of the human need to believe in order, the need to believe the world makes sense, that it can be understood and measured and marked down.
It’s the last day of December and another year is ending. Unless you’re Muslim, in which case the year ended a couple of weeks ago; unless you’re Jewish, in which case the year ended last September; unless you’re Buddhist, in which case you celebrated the new year back in April or May; unless you’re Hindu, in which case it’s anybody’s guess. The Old Planet continues to spin on its axis and make its slow circuit around the sun with callous disregard for clocks and calendars.
I’m in complete agreement with the Old Planet. You can keep your calendars—your years and months and days, they’re hardly important. I would measure time by the fullness of human experience. I would measure time by the period between laughter and smiles. Each distinct episode of laughter and smiling would begin a new day, regardless of the position of the sun or moon, or any celestial body. And I would hope we all live an uncountable number of days.
Look at this smile, this laugh. Tell me this doesn’t feel like the beginning of a new day.
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