Flat champagne at midnight. Dancing to Nina Simone, Joni Mitchell, and Cesaria Evora. Yahtzee for cheaters. Singing to Louis Armstrong, Johnny Cash, and Frank Sinatra. Noisemakers and confetti and selfies. Him, and her, and me. Always.

Before dawn, we paraded down 42 concrete steps in bathrobes tucked beneath parkas to greet the moon. Our delirious laughter echoed in the stairway and followed us across the parking lot to where the grass meets the alley. We carefully unfolded a large paper lantern, which was much too delicate and began to burn, gently at first, and then more ferociously as flames seized it almost entirely, quieting only after a swarm of violent slippers suffocated it to its death. Breathless and bewildered, we determined to try again. The second lit more easily, drifting sleepily from our fingers, ascending graciously into the universe before a tree branch clasped it close. Gasps and shrieks of panic erupted as we watched, wide-eyed, from far below, envisioning a neighborhood ablaze and anxious about placing a call to the fire department. But within a few seconds, our new year’s wish gently rocked itself loose, uncertain only momentarily about which direction to blow. It settled on a clear but winding path and then sailed — energetic and hopeful — across the night sky.

Life is like that.