Tonight, the world, supposedly, starts anew. Another cycle around the sun. A new moment for setting intentions or becoming determined to achieve some random goal that will disappear into the oblivion of defeat in a month or two.
But why is this the time of new? What is new anyway? There really is “nothing new under the sun.” A quote, which sounds somewhat depressing in a world that seems to always be searching for the newest, shiniest, next-best-thing.
I didn’t know where that phrase came from, so I Googled. It is found in The Book of Ecclesiastes:
“The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.”
This could be a depressing concept, in a world that strives for newness. However, it doesn’t have to be, if we repurpose the concept of what “new” means.
I suppose that products can be new, but in a world where we are overwhelmed by the detritus of old stuff, it feels disturbing sometimes to get something new.
New implies something that has never been before. The new year suggests that everything ahead will somehow be fresh and different. We’ve fallen to the delusion that miraculously on midnight of December 31 everything is wiped clean, and we start the year with a blank slate.
Of course, I’ve always felt the year starting in the fall. It was a combination of celebrating Rosh Hashanah as a child, and the cycle of the school year, which has for so long guided my life.
In truth, though, when we wake up on January 1st, there’s nothing really new happening. The floats from the Tournament of Roses parade, are still floats. The traditions with which we spend the day, are traditions built over the years.
Everything new is built on everything that came before. Even a new fallen snow (which I yearn for this year) is made from the cycle of water. Of course, opening your eyes on the morning after a snowstorm—before someone has gone out and marred it with footsteps—the white carpet makes the world feel new, fresh. and clean. The silence makes you believe that the world stopped just for a moment.
My soul yearns for something new, or maybe not. What I really want for this new year is the ability to see myself through the eyes of youth, when everything seems new and possible. I want to wake up each morning and say, today is the start of whatever comes next, even if it is not new but simply an extension of what my life has already been. I want to build on the years of my life, not to celebrate newness, but rather to rediscover what has always lived within me, the potential to live a life well lived.
This sounds maudlin, and yet it’s not. Just because something is new, doesn’t mean it’s better. The world has proven that. Yet, each year we are given an opportunity to find new meaning in the old—to refurbish it into something that has the strength of it’s roots, but challenges us to think differently, to make changes, to grow.
What would happen if, rather than searching for new solutions, or new technologies, we focused instead on new approaches, utilizing what we have to enhance what works and discard what doesn’t? Collaboration is not new, but working in different ways across different groups can lead to something powerful. Creativity is not new, but playing with different techniques or approaches will strengthen everything you do.
The coming year does not have to be the year of new, rather I choose it to be the year of different.
How will you view things differently this year?
I have not been around as long as the sun, so those that might be old to that are new to me.