160 years ago, Charles Baudelaire wrote a letter to Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve: ‘A new year is beginning, and no doubt will be as dull, as stupid, as criminal as the ones which have preceded it.’
A similar sentiment can be found in Dorothy Parker’s 1929 telegram; ‘YOU COME RIGHT OVER HERE AND EXPLAIN WHY THEY ARE HAVING ANOTHER YEAR’. The uppercase is thanks to the telegram medium itself, but it fits.
But see, it’s not just us.
I’ve never been one for grand resolutions on New Year’s Eve. For better or worse, I tend to drink my bubbles without self-retribution. This year, for example, I clinked glasses to sex workers, wonderful clients, and the beautiful, soul-nourishing brothel that is Funhouse Wellington. She is the steady ship that makes it all possible.
But admittedly, there is something about the strange unfolding of time in early January that lends itself well to introspection, even melancholia, and radical reassessment of our lives and goals. This year, if you accidentally started doomscrolling or, like me, have simply turned on the news, perhaps the quiet reflection of summer holidays has turned to apprehension. In which case, what to do about another ‘stupid’, ‘criminal’ year? My suggestion, AKA resolution, is to be more in the world, not less.
I don’t mean go to the forest, although you absolutely should do that.
I do mean, we need Virginia Woolf-level audacity. What if we, bold and ambitious in our various callings, also sleep well, love well, and dine well? Have passionate, sensual sex and share with those we love (including those we love for an hour or two every Wednesday) exactly how divine they are. Seek out the connection, intimacy, art and adventure that we want. Go to the theatre, plant something, eat cake. Taste something exquisite – food or Domme – you choose. Co-create the sexual experiences we want. Circle back to the forest.
And carry this spirit in our pockets:
‘I like your energy.
I love your legs.
I long to see you.’
– Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville-West, 22nd August 1927