Releasing the Notes

There are a handful of occasions that have their own songs; I’m not talking about Christmas that has its own entire genre. I’m thinking more of niche songs, like singing Danny Boy for St Patrick’s day.

Or Auld Lang Syne for New Year’s Eve.

There is a version that Zooey Deschanel sings that I had in mind for this post, but while looking for it I found this one:

After learning that the song originates from Scotland, then finding this song, I found my new favorite version.

I will admit that, in my naivete, I don’t recognize the differences in a lot of accents from that region of the world, but I assumed it was Scottish…

But I was very indifferent to this song for most of my life. It was just some weird song that people sang on New Year’s Eve and never again, and I’m not much of one to stand on meaningless traditions, so I mostly tolerated it. Then, while reading John Green’s The Anthropocene Reviewed, I learned more about the meaning of the song, and it began to mean something.

That book is fantastic , by the way. John Green, who is a genuine and intelligent person, gives Yelp-style reviews to parts of human life. His witty writing style gives the book an easy feel, while it is simultaneously packed with interesting thoughts and tidbits. I would suggest the audio book version, which John narrates himself:

Here is an excerpt from the review on Auld Lang Syne:

“I think Auld Lang Syne is popular in Hollywood not just because it’s in the public domain and therefore cheap, but also because it’s the rare song that is genuinely wistful–it acknowledges human longing without romanticizing it, and it captures how each new year is a product of all the old ones. When I sing Auld Lang Syne on New Year’s Eve, I forget the words like everyone does, until I get to the fourth verse, which I do have memorized: “We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun till dine, but seas between us broad have roared since Auld Lang Syne.” And I think about the many broad seas that have roared between me and the past–seas of neglect, seas of time, seas of death. I’ll never speak again to many of the people who loved me into this moment, just as you will never speak to many of the people who loved you into your now. And so we raise a glass to them–and hope that perhaps somewhere, they are raising a glass to us.”

That fits the song beautifully. When you take the time to really sit with the lyrics, the song is about remembering all the positive parts of the past without having the longing to return to those times.

So, tonight, as I prepare to ring in 2025, I am choosing to forego the pressured resolutions, and instead, I will take the time to live the spirit of Auld Lang Syne; I am going to review the important and positive things in the past year (if you read much of my writing, you know I already spend a lot of time reflecting, so I’m pretty good at it), acknowledging the ways it changed my life, and then letting go of it.

When I say letting go of it, I don’t mean cutting ties with everyone and disappearing, rather, I am not forcing things anymore. Instead, as I move into more of a homesteading lifestyle, I am going to practice the law of the harvest in more areas of my life as well: sowing the seeds and harvesting what grows.

I’m not going to try to force growth where things don’t want to grow. And I’m not going to obsess over aspects of my life that have run their course. Instead, I will remember it fondly, raise my glass for Old Time’s Sake, and focus on the parts of my life that are growing and thriving.

So, along with wishing you a Happy New Year, I am also hoping you find the beauty that was to be found in this past year.

For Auld Lang Syne.