Focus.

A lesson in writing.

Have your chosen writing implement of choice. Some prefer a pencil, some a very certain kind of pen, others a laptop or keyboard. Typewriter. Clay tablets. The sky.

Stare at something. Walls are good for this because we are nearly constantly surrounded by them. Stare at a wall. If you're outdoors, simply rethink your definition of 'wall.' It shouldn't take long before you're feeling mildly claustrophobic in the great outdoors.

Take a sip of coffee. Take another, longer sip of coffee. Coffee is important for this; tea is an acceptable substitute depending on your culture and upbringing. It should be in a mug at least. Sometimes it can be whiskey. Don't serve whiskey hot.

Take a deep breath. Do not do so while you take a sip of coffee. This will end poorly.

Now don't think. You've done all your thinking before, when you're on the way to your job or caught in the middle of a long grocery line when you really just needed some eggs, when you're staring at a wall and you realize that there's someone who hasn't been in your life for a very long time and you deeply regret that. You've already thought about the fact that the person you miss isn't real, not anymore. Time passes and people change. You aren't the same, and they certainly aren't either.

Think about the uncomfortable sense you have that your days are so rote as to be interchangeable. Think about the fact that because you have thought this you have marked this day as unique. Think about the fact that thinking about thinking about the facts might just be another element of your rote days. Contemplate the definition of meta. Realize you miss the feel of a lover's skin under your fingertips. Realize that your fingertips are in contact with a writing implement.

Take a long sip of coffee. 

Realize that it's a beautiful day. It may be storming, or oven-hot, or grey-cold, or night. Realize that the state of time and weather is irrelevant. Realize that it has been a beautiful day for a very long time. Contemplate the definition of beauty. Do not contemplate the definition of day.

There is noise. Tune it out, listen closely to it, or replace it with whatever noises you in your godlike capabilities feel compelled to conjure. 

Think about all the people in your life. Think about people who aren't in your life. Create people in both categories. Make them want things. Make them do things. Make them take long sips of coffee. Take notes.

Chime.

Here we are. It's another day. The sun's out, or it isn't. The birds are singing, or they aren't. You're filled with a sense of existential dread that you're masking a little more than usual.

Or you aren't.

I love the idea of a New Year's party. We have people from all across the world and all walks of life cheering our little planet on as it makes another turn around the sun. I like that thought, all of us shouting encouragement at the Earth as it books it for the celestial finish line. I like even more that the race starts over again but we're still cheering until someone hits someone else or throws up in public.

Or maybe I don't. I'm not sure yet.

New Year's celebrations are beautiful in the darkest way; for a few minutes we completely embrace the passage of time, hoot and holler as the clock winds down, the numbers go up, and we get a little older. We celebrate our own mortality, raise drinks to our locked drift through the days, and make our own peace with the end of it all. New journeys start as old adventures finish.

You know what the greatest part is? We all watch a clock and count down the last seconds of the last minute of the final hour of the final day, pushing the time along into another year, a greater number, closer to greater and more final endings...and we start it with a kiss.

The first word most people speak every year is 'happy.' Tell me that isn't beautiful.