Is it too late to say ‘Happy New Year’?

It’s mid-January and I am still greeting friends I haven’t seen in 2026 with “Happy New Year!” Is there an expiration date for sharing these good wishes? In other words, when does the New Year become the old year?

If truth be told, I’m a little short on good cheer this year. To put it mildly, the world has gone amok. But even in normal times, New Year’s can bring out the curmudgeon in me. On a scale of 1-5 (with 1 being the best), I sometimes give New Year’s a 6.

Why is the holiday so problematic?

I have a date on New Year’s Eve, so that can’t be the reason. Lucky me, I’ve been with the same guy for more than 50 years!

It’s not that I don’t have the right clothes. Stretch pants and a baggy sweater, comfortable shoes or better yet, fuzzy slippers, are just fine for the occasion.

And it’s not that I’m a teetotaler. When my friends and I open a bottle of wine to toast the New Year, we usually drink half of it. The remaining half goes in the freezer for the next time I make brisket.

Then what is it that irks me?

Maybe the holiday’s proximity to Christmas makes me uncomfortable. Six days after December 25, with its lingering decorations and lights, New Year’s feels like a first cousin to Christmas. If the holiday were a distant relative, it might be more appealing.

Resolutions make me jittery. Promising to make improvements in my life, and then ultimately falling short, is definitely not good for my mental health. Will I become more introspective and have more humility this year? Probably not. Neither will I learn to knit, become a better swimmer, or add chia seeds to my diet. I have learned to accept this.

When I swipe my Google calendar from December to January, it’s no big deal. It’s just like advancing to any new month. But when I retire my old-fashioned wall calendar, with its illegible scribbles that summarize my life, and I begin a new one, with squares as white as snow, I feel unmoored. What will the New Year bring? The uncertainty gives me butterflies in my stomach.

Furthermore, I don’t understand the appeal of ushering in the New Year at Times Square with a million strangers. Even during the pandemic, people felt compelled to stand in that iconic New York location and wait for the ball to drop. Give me a New Year with communal sin and blessings, a Book of Life instead of a ball, and an apple dipped with honey instead of a bottle of champagne. Give me Rosh HaShanah!

So with all this negativity, what do I do on December 31 and January 1? I celebrate! Of course! What choice is there? I’d rather be, or pretend to be, Pollyanna instead of Scrooge. I fill my heart with gratitude and push the chaos aside. I have friends and family I want to be with, and I savor our time together.

For almost two decades, my husband and I hosted the same group of friends for a 36-hour party. If we couldn’t predict the future, at least we could predict some of the menu: Merrill’s bread, Ken’s omelets, Linda’s cheesecake, and Andy’s ice cream.

We also knew there would be snow to shovel to get into our sizzling hot tub. We knew who would doze off before midnight and who would be an early riser. For sure, the main activity on New Year’s Day would be a hike.

One New Year’s, our conversation was about ailments and medications. “When did we become our parents?” we sighed and laughed. What a coincidence to discover that we all had colonoscopies scheduled for January!

On another New Year’s, some of us were anticipating becoming grandparents. We didn’t know the names of our yet unborn grandchildren, but we embraced our new identities, such as Savta, Grandpa, Grandma, and Bubbie. That evening the name “Grandy” — Grandpa plus Andy — was born.

As families grew and changed, we developed new traditions. This year we celebrated with our kids and three grandchildren. Balloons and party hats, New Year’s necklaces, and tiny hands that helped Bubbie and Grandy in the kitchen, all became new traditions. We didn’t need noisemakers; we were our own noisemakers. What could be a better way to start a New Year than filling the bird feeders and playing in the snow?

So, is New Year’s a 6 (on my scale of 1-5) or a 1? Should I celebrate or grouse about it?

When I say “Happy New Year” for a few extra weeks in January, I’ve answered my question.

Merrill Silver and her husband live in Montclair; she’s a freelance writer and retired ESL teacher. Her work has appeared in the New York Times, Hadassah magazine, the Forward, the New York Jewish Week, and other publications. Find her at merrillsilver.wordpress.com

Opinion