Staci Swedeen

I woke up this morning thinking about all the ways I’ve spent New Year’s Eve over the years. A few highlights, in no particular order:

In Times Square. This was not intentional. My friend Sheila had written a play that was being performed at a small theatre in midtown at 10 P.M. As my husband made our way uptown and got closer to 43 street more and more people were milling about. Blocks were barricaded. Policemen were stationed at corners. We had to show our tickets with the address of the theatre to be allowed past the barricade. Once there, we relaxed into the dark and watched the play. It was about a jockey, a barmaid and life at the track. Coming out of the theatre was like walking into Hieronymus Bosch painting. Noise, lights, crazy people. We flew back to our hovel on East Fifth Street, happy to escape.

In an isolation tank near 23rd street in Manhattan. I’d been living alone in New York City for several years, riding the waves of unhappy relationships, struggling to find work to support myself and trying to figure out how to crack the acting nut. I was feeling completely burned out and wanted to escape. Someone in acting class had told me about his experience over at this mediation center that also had isolation tanks. He used the words “incredible” and “enlightening” in the same sentence, so I thought I would check it out. An isolation tank is a lightless, soundproof tank in which you float in salt water that is at skin temperature. First used by John Lilly (he of LSD and “talking to the dolphins” fame) these contraptions are also called sensory deprivation tanks. That sounded pretty damn good! At that time in my life it felt like my senses were getting me into nothing but trouble. Now all I can remember about the experience is that salt water at skin temperature water didn’t feel nearly warm enough for December. I couldn’t get my mind to shut up. And after my hour was over I got dressed and walked back to the East Village. The streets were oddly deserted as I walked down Broadway. Quiet. Dark. Serene.

Dancing at the front of a conga line. Okay, it was the 80’s. And I was in North Carolina with my friend Jayne doing a show called “Making Whoopee.” What else can I say? We were all out of our minds.

Of course I’ve had the New Year’s Eve where I made resolutions and written lists of goals for the upcoming year, where I’ve burned little slips of paper in the fireplace to release “issues” and where I’ve repeatedly vowed to lose weight, stop drinking, and work for World Peace. World Peace is the only one of those goals that seem even halfway interesting to me at this point in my life.

But last night’s New Year’s Eve is among my favorite. My husband Chris and I had dinner with Richard and Janet, a couple I met through Chris over a quarter of a century ago. We ate lobster and drank wine. We dipped claws in butter. We laughed and shared stories of 2009.

Richard pointed out that we’re already into this new century by ten years – that’s its ten percent over.
Ten percent is a lot! Janet said. In a sale if something is ten percent off it’s enough to make you want to buy it.
I say we go for the whole other ninety, said Richard. Why not? With all the medical advances being made it might be possible. Who knows what new wonders are in store?

No one talked about what a better person they planned to be in the New Year. We just smiled at the thought. As for the other ninety years left in this century? If I can always spend it with good friends, good food and good conversation, then I second Richard’s sentiment.

Why not?