New Year’s Eve is the Super Bowl of expectations. It’s the one night of the year when we’re convinced something monumental is supposed to happen—something cinematic, life-altering, confetti-filled, with a deep sense of personal renewal.

The hype starts early. Sometime around December 26, we begin hearing phrases like, “What are your plans?” said in a tone that suggests that if your answer doesn’t involve sequins, champagne (which I don’t like), or a rooftop, you have already failed the coming year. Social media reinforces this pressure with photos from past New Year’s Eves—crowds smiling through chattering teeth, glitter clinging desperately to eyelids, and someone wearing a hat that says HAPPY NEW YEAR in blinking lights that feels like a cry for help.

I have never truly considered New Year’s to be a real holiday. Other than trying to remember not to write the old year on checks (and honestly, who writes checks anymore?) New Year’s is just like any other day—unless you are given the day off work with pay, and then I’ll happily take it. But since I’m retired, I can’t even claim holiday status anymore. After the big lead-up to Christmas, New Year’s has always seemed a bit of a let-down to me. At least since I advanced past the age of about twenty.

Of course, when I was young, New Year’s Eve was a big deal, and one simply had to have plans or risk being labeled a loser. Now, I’m happy if I don’t have plans. I borrowed this saying from the internet: “Youth is when you’re allowed to stay up for New Year’s. Middle age is when you’re forced to.” No truer words were ever spoken. And old age? I won’t even go there. The New Year’s Eve parties became less exciting as I grew older and had to wait until midnight before I could leave gracefully.

At 8:47 p.m., everyone is already tired. You’ve already eaten too many snacks and run out of small talk. Someone asks if it’s too early to open the champagne. Someone else quietly Googles, “What time is midnight in New York?” because if we can count down early and still go to bed, that feels like winning. By 10:30, the room has split into two camps: those aggressively committed to staying awake “no matter what,” and those starting to negotiate with themselves. “If I fall asleep now, I’ll still wake up in the new year. That counts.”

The television is on, but no one is really watching it. Multiple countdowns are happening simultaneously on different channels, none of which agree on the exact moment the year changes. Somewhere, a celebrity we don’t recognize is performing a song we don’t know, while the hosts shout over each other with forced enthusiasm.

And then—finally—it happens.

Midnight.

There’s a countdown. There’s yelling. There’s kissing that feels more ceremonial than romantic. Someone’s drink spills. Someone else blows a horn for far longer than is socially acceptable. For about thirty seconds, there’s a sense that something profound has occurred.

Then, it’s 12:01 a.m.

The room goes quiet in the way only disappointment can manage. Someone says, “Well… happy New Year.” Another person immediately asks, “So… what now?” Nothing, as it turns out. Unless someone tries to sing Auld Lang Syne, which no one knows the words to.

The world has not changed. Your problems did not evaporate. You are still wearing the same uncomfortable clothes, and now you are tired and disappointed. The only thing that has truly transformed is your ability to stay awake.

By 12:03 a.m., people are scrambling for their jackets. By 12:15, the only ones still awake are the people cleaning up and the person insisting they want to “start the year right” by washing glasses.

We hype New Year’s like it’s going to change everything, and then we quietly accept that it didn’t—and that’s actually okay. Because maybe the new year doesn’t arrive with fireworks and champagne. Maybe it slips in softly, while we’re in pajamas, turning off lights, and hoping tomorrow’s coffee is strong.

So, in traditional holiday spirit, Happy New Year!

May your expectations be low, your bedtime be reasonable, and your troubles last as long as your New Year’s resolutions.