Happy New Year

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So, yeah, Happy New Year. Go ahead and pop the cork, kiss whoever’s nearby and who is willing to be kissed– in the face or elsewhere– I don’t care as long as they don’t care, post the glittery Instagram story with the caption about “new beginnings.” I mean it. I hope you laugh, I hope you wake up tomorrow without a hangover that feels like your skull was used as a rental car by the Four Horsemen. Sincerely. Happy New Year.

But let’s not pretend that “happy” isn’t doing a lot of heavy lifting right now.

We’ve arrived at another January with the enthusiasm of someone opening a bill marked “FINAL NOTICE.” The world is on fire—sometimes literally—and we’re all standing around arguing about whether the smoke is “woke.” Wars grind on, bodies pile up, and every day the news delivers fresh proof that human life is treated as expendable by people who will never be in the blast radius of their own decisions. If this is a celebration, it’s the kind held in a burning building where someone keeps yelling, “Relax, the flames are part of the ambiance.”

And then there’s the United States, where “political chaos” feels less like a phase and more like a permanent weather pattern. Democracy is being gnawed on by bad-faith actors like a chew toy, and half the country is applauding because the gnawing hurts the people they don’t like. We’re trapped in a loop where corruption is no longer a scandal, cruelty is sold as strength, and lies are just another flavor option on the propaganda menu. Pick your poison: grievance, fear, or the comforting lie that none of this really affects you.

What makes it worse is the forced cheerfulness. Every January we’re instructed to believe that the calendar flip magically fixes things. As if changing the number automatically un-fucks the systems that were broken on purpose. “New year, new me,” says a country that refuses to hold anyone accountable and then wonders why the same disasters keep showing up like uninvited guests who know you won’t kick them out.

Still—annoyingly, stubbornly—there’s a reason to keep saying “Happy New Year,” even with a clenched jaw. Because happiness, in this moment, isn’t ignorance. It’s defiance. It’s choosing to care when the easiest move is to numb out. It’s helping someone who’s going to have a worse year than you. It’s voting, organizing, speaking up, or just refusing to let the bastards convince you that empathy is a weakness.

So no, I don’t know exactly what “happy” means right now. It might mean angry but engaged. Tired but unyielding. Laughing because if you don’t, the alternative is screaming into the void until it screams back.

Happy New Year. Not because everything’s fine—(And it isn’t really as bad as some people would have us believe … we are still free.. there is still food on the table, a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, somebody to copulate, and a warm place to take a shit ….. but because giving up would make assholes too comfortable. — The People are on he move and we are heading into that glorious future– so do not be dismayed –the world is open and the future is still ours.