Auld Lang Syne
As I sit here and reflect on the year, I think of many things.
I think of how profoundly our government has failed us and how hard the powers that be conspire against us. I think of how separate I feel from my family and how distant I feel from my friends. I think of the little three-foot-tall Christmas tree that my partner bought me. I think of the Christmas cookies I made to celebrate the season and have a taste of home from halfway across the country. I think of the 2020 calendar I had hung up in my office that I haven’t seen in nine months and is still probably open to March.
I think of how this Christmas will be the first that I’ve spent away from my family and how much that hurts. The pandemic has taken so many invaluable things from us, but I’m not going to pretend that me not being able to taste my mom’s holiday cooking is even close to the level of loss that some people experienced this year.
This year has taught me about the value of life. Or rather, the value of a life. I learned how precious our time here is and how unfairly that can be ripped away from us. I learned how much the value of a life varies from person to person, and that’s something I can’t unlearn. I learned that some people out there are willing to sacrifice the lives of a few hundred thousand because they want to have drinks at Applebees.
Despite all of this, despite the fact that things are bad and barely getting better, I am optimistic. I’m not going to pretend all of our problems are fixed, but there’s something about the cold, indifference of time that offers a friendly reminder that none of this matters. Time doesn’t care about COVID. Time doesn’t care about your struggles, or successes, or how you spend your days. December arrived on-time, just as it was scheduled to. My Christmas spirit arrived on-time just as it was scheduled to. This blog arrived on-time just as it was scheduled to. There’s some comfort in that.
I guess it goes without saying that Christmas is going to be different this year, but this blog was still here throughout the season, and that was a relief. Running this thing is a lot of work, but it’s worth it. This blog is a beautiful distraction, but it’s also a fantastic way to transport myself into the world of other people’s Christmases. I can take a single, microscopic dose of someone’s Christmas spirit and revel in that taste for just a day. Then I get to share it with the world. That’s a pretty cool tradition to be a part of.
As I sit here and listen to Sufjan’s rendition of “Auld Lang Syne,” I think many things.
I think of his trademarked banjo and how beautifully that instrument captures the emotion of this song. I think of the context of this piece; a drunken, high-spirited tune meant to ring in the new year. I think of how everyone knows the melody and the first few words but how quickly that knowledge devolves into drunken humming.
“Auld Lang Syne” is a poem originally written by Robert Burns in 1788, which is set to the tune of a traditional folk song called “Roud #6294.” Despite sounding (and being named) like a paint chip you’d find at Home Depot, it’s interesting to see how much this song still prevails centuries after its creation.
The piece essentially symbolizes the passing of one phase into another. While it’s most known for being played at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve, it’s also sung at funerals, graduations, and as a farewell or ending to other occasions (or so Wikipedia tells me). Still, I think most people will know it as “The New Years Song,” and I think that’s interesting. Holiday tunes are one thing, but to have a song whose express purpose is to be played on a single day is fascinating. Not only that, this song is played once per year, at the same time of year, then forgotten until December 31st, a whole 365 days later.
Sufjan’s rendition of the song is on-brand as ever with the aforementioned banjo, but the track quickly swells to a chorus of voices singing the tune with forthright cheer. It’s restrained (especially compared to the drunken version sung by crowds on New Year’s Eve) but still feels like a beautiful coming together of voices who are celebrating the passing of one year into the next. And I think that’s something we’ll all be celebrating this year.
I know the year is just a number on a calendar, but 2020 has been rough for everyone. There isn’t a person on earth that hasn’t been impacted by the events of this year because global pandemics affect us all. 2020 has been a year defined death and marked by a constant sense of dread and underlying cosmic uncomfortability. Relationships have been strained, finances have been hit, and the world as we knew it a mere 365 days ago no longer exists. Not only that, it will probably never exist again.
As I sit here and reflect on the year, I think of many things.
I think of this year and everything we’ve lost. I think of the fact that many of the problems we experienced this year aren’t confined to 2020. I think of how different “Auld Lang Syne” will sound this year as we all sing (or hum) it from our homes. I think of how empty New York Times Square will be on December 31st and how bizarre and apocalyptic that will seem… yet we will do it because it’s a tradition that makes us feel comforted.
The world is cold and deadly and indifferent. The winter is the coldest, deadliest, most indifferent time of the year, this year more than maybe ever. Christmas is a tradition deeply rooted in religion, but it’s also rooted in something more profound. Something human. Something primal.
All of this, the holidays, the traditions, the lights, the trees, the presents, the songs, the stockings, the Christmas cookies, the movies… those are all just distractions. I guess “distraction” sounds diminutive, but every single element of the holiday is just an excuse to take our mind off the world outside, even just for a minute or two. Traditions are just excuses for getting closer, sharing your body heat, and providing some mutual support to those closest to you. That’s what this blog is. That’s what this post is. That’s what “Auld Lang Syne” is.
“Auld Lang Syne” is an excuse to get close, let your guard down, and celebrate similarities with your fellow man. We made it this far, let’s just be drunk and optimistic and cheerful for these two minutes, even if reality is waiting for us on the other side.
Taylor Grimes is a Portland-born writer currently hunkering down for the winter in Denver, Colorado, with his partner. He runs Swim Into The Sound in addition to this very site! You can find him on Twitter @GeorgeTaylorG, where he spends an unhealthy amount of time making esoteric jokes about emo music.