I spent New Year’s Eve in and here’s my assessment of the evening 

By Sarah Cannata

Ah New Year’s Eve, that one night of the year when we’re all expected to be out there raging, having way more fun than we can handle and find a 1x1cm square of space to occupy on that dreaded train journey home… while regretting that last drink we consumed because you know, to hell with it all!


Here’s the thing…


I turned 30 in 2017 and most of my friends now have partners they spent their night with (I have a seemingly permanent role in Beyoncé’s Single Ladies video clip and I love single life). To be honest, it really is a case of been there, done that for me when it comes to New Year’s Eve. In years past, I’ve had the time of my life with my best friends while dancing and watching the fireworks in the city. I’ve been with a bunch of people who were denied entry into a club because someone chose to wear a singlet (who does that on New Year’s when you know everywhere is packed?). I have even sent that oh so brazen text message at midnight that immediately made me feel violently ill and want to jump into my phone to take it back (let’s not talk about how that particular situation ended).


So this year, I decided to take all of the ridiculous expectation away from the night…


And there I sat on 31 December, a drink in hand sitting next to my furry little friend that I was dog sitting. I watched Sex & the City DVDs (has anyone else noticed how politically incorrect that show is in certain scenes with the power of hindsight?). I let it rip with YouTube – the Buffy: The Vampire Slayer musical songs really hit the spot. I’m even proud to say that before calling it a night, I reflected on the year that had passed and legitimately enjoyed the special moments… the pastizzi and cocktails during my time in Malta, the many like-minded women who I was fortunate enough to connect with and I was even really grateful for the things that didn’t go to plan (that could have been the wine talking though).

And honestly, when the clock struck midnight and I switched my attention towards the TV to watch the fireworks, I remember being the most content I have ever been. I didn’t spend my first moments of 2018 surrounded by half of Melbourne trying to get home as soon as possible. Or dreading what was heading my way in a few hours in the form of a punishing hangover that is my body’s way of screaming at me: “payback is a bitch!”


There’s a level of maturity that catapults you forward as you get older…


Sure, there is the part of me that wishes I really wanted to be out there on the town, raging up a storm. That side of my split personality is inevitably drowned out by the logical Sarah who has gained a much better understanding of who I am over the last few years. I’m not that woman taking endless selfies… or that woman dancing up a storm on New Year’s or planning her next trip to the hairdresser’s – trust me, I’ve dyed my hair once in my life and as I sat with the red tinge slowly penetrating my skull as I stared back at myself in the mirror, fearing I was turning into Ronald McDonald, I vowed I’d never journey down that route ever again.

At the end of the day, I am that woman who would prefer to stay inside on New Year’s Eve, snuggle up to my furry friend and wonder where I just might be at the same time next year.

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