About 13 years ago on New Year’s Eve, after a difficult 16 months at a job I hated, I quit. That night, an unseasonably warm one in the 60’s, I went with a friend to Times Square for New Year’s.

We got there in the early evening. The crowds prevented us from getting close to the ball. It was barely visible from where we stood, crushed in the pack of people, breathing in the cool air, completely exhilarated. I felt such a freedom from the heavy weight of the job I had given up. The energy in the city was incredible.

Usually, New Year’s isn’t a big deal for me. Staying up till midnight near the darkest day of the year feels like middle school graduation, an arbitrary signpost that doesn’t mark anything significant.

The beginning of the school year, with its new school supplies, new books, and crisp weather? That feels like a fresh start.

This year has been a tough one. Even though I don’t usually celebrate year’s end, I was at least looking forward to an extra chance to turn the page and start a new chapter. This year’s fall hadn’t brought a fresh start in the way I had hoped.

This morning when I woke up, not a lot had changed. It was discouraging.

In the afternoon, we all went to the beach. Three cars, lots of sunblock, sitting in a line of cars to get into the beach along with all the other people celebrating New Year’s Day.

Something about the beach takes everything and makes it small. Between you, and the sky, and the water, you get a better sense of the tiny nook each person occupies in the universe.

With perspective gained, we brushed off as much sand as we could and loaded up, gritty, tired, and hungry. On the way home, cars flashed by, pounding music in the warm air, and a supermoon glowed impossibly huge and low in the sky, peeking through the tropical vegetation as we drove.

I may wake up again tomorrow and find that not much has changed. The difference will be that today, my soul was able to flutter a little higher between waves and moonlight, and I can see that it will get better.