by Sharon Strzalkowski
By noon of that day, the stirrings could no longer be ignored, and by 3 p.m. that New Year’s Eve, it was a certainty that I would be attending my city’s First Night celebration later on that night. There was nothing particularly unusual about my decision — except that this year friends and family were elsewhere, and I would be venturing out alone in an unfamiliar city, to discover what the night might bring.
After work and a quick scan of the various venues, I decided to go to one particular church which was large enough to sponsor several events going on at the same time. I prepared for any eventuality by having enough cash so that I could take a cab home at any point, carrying my trusty cell phone in hand, and, as best as I could, bringing my courage as well. How interesting it is that we must will ourselves even to do what should be an enjoyable thing!
Traffic was slow on the way to the church, and there were many detours because of closed streets for purposes of the revelry to come. When I arrived at the church, I decided to go first to a shortened version of the Messiah, as I knew people in the chorus and was secretly hoping to run into someone I could share time with during the rest of the evening. Lo and behold, though, this event was not in the church building proper, and I was told to take a path to the next building. The snow was crunchy, and carnival-like sounds were emanating from various events on the street, so I knew that people were around. I had no trouble locating the building, and went in to hear the chorus. No one I knew appeared afterwards, so I went back to the church to hear some folk music. Trepidation was still a somewhat less forthright companion, but I kept it at bay by remembering earlier visits to this same church where I had enjoyed myself.
At this point, I wasn’t at all sure that the folk-music event was going to be fun, but I sat down to hear a group that I had heard perform before, and gradually began to relax. I chatted with my neighbors nearby, as I have always found that folk music people seem friendly and not pretentious. When the set ended, I followed some people down two flights to the next event. By now I was feeling pretty good — almost as if I was somehow part of the night’s revelry.
Soon aromas of soup, hot chocolate and the like caught my attention, and I made my way to the food line. I found a volunteer who helped me to get hot chocolate, and it tasted delicious! She was wonderfully non-patronizing, but did say that she would stop by for me in a few minutes if I was ready to go to the next event.
Then, much to my surprise, a friend whom I had thought was out of town appeared! She was as surprised to see me as I was to see her, and, I think, just as glad to have company. Then an interesting thing happened. I had already heard one group that she had yet to hear, so we separated and agreed to meet after the next sets were done. This was remarkable because in our short relationship she had never seemed comfortable with me wandering around and not being under her watchful eye every moment. This new separateness represented a small but important victory, I felt!
The rest of the evening passed quickly, as we went to a glorious soprano concert and a rowdy enthusiastic gospel group, which rang in the New Year.
I would be less than honest if I were to say that I would have had as much fun by myself, and no doubt I would have gone home earlier, satisfied with my effort. But, looking at the evening, I can say that the combination of prudence, honoring my feelings and then sometimes going against them, a little bit of pluck, and a great deal of curiosity won the day. Somehow that evening was a turning point for me in this my new city, and I will never again stay home if I want to go somewhere that is exciting, safe, and where I know that I can control the situation to some extent. I gave myself a good New Year's present that night, and I hope that it will inspire any of you reading this to give yourself the same!