Biscuits and Gravy

Biscuits and Gravy

1/1/2026

It is the first day of the new year. They call it "New Year's Day", which fits, I suppose, though it is not very creative in my opinion. But what do I know. When I think of what I would call it if someone asked me to come up with a new name, I draw blanks. It is easier to be critical than creative, don't you think?

Fortunately, Keshav's new year started out well because I came through and served him the planned biscuits and gravy. I think he was happy to eat this as his first breakfast of 2026. He is not happy about having to go to work, but then who would be on New Year's Day?

Years and years ago, I would be working myself on the 1st. When I worked in the catering field, I used to have a client who threw an annual two-day bash for his friends, starting on New Year's Eve. The friends would all stay at the house after the celebration, crashing on couches and sleeping bags, while our staff would go to a hotel for maybe three hours of sleep before starting up again. 

On New Year's Day we would get to the house early, before others had awakened, and begin setting up a brunch buffet that they would all enjoy hours later. I remember leaving this event every year exhausted, but with a shitload of money in my pocket from the cash tip the client gave me. I remember thinking to myself "This is the way to start the new year--flush with money rather than empty-pocketed". 

I no longer run events like this, so I don't start the new year "flush with cash", but I also don't start it empty-pocketed, primarily because I don't go out on New Year's Eve. I would go out, if I had a friend with a big house who hosted a two-day affair including dinner, sleepover, and breakfast brunch buffet. 

Oh well, I am happy with what I get to set up for my husband--a teeny breakfast plate on his hallway meal tray. Much easier to manage. 

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I have never really had a proper new year celebration, come to think of it. I have either been working, first as a bartender and then as an event manager, or I have stayed home. I think that there was one party I attended in my 20's where I laughably wore my tap shoes because I didn't have proper dress shoes. Unfortunately I did not anticipate that the home would have tile floors rather than carpeting, so I spent the evening trying in vain to not tap my taps. Oh the shame!

I would happily attend a New Year's Eve celebration today, but I don't get any invitations to any. Since my husband worked, I spent both New Year's Eve and New Year's Day alone. While it was nice to relax in our apartment, I was surprised to notice that I felt lonely. I did not anticipate that. 

I think that it hit me when friends would check in or I would check in with them, and it seemed that nobody else was alone. Everyone else was with family or friends, for better or worse, but nobody was alone, at least not amongst those whom I checked in with. 

Before you start feeling sorry for me (please don't), I must share that I did get some invitations over the holidays. One friend invited me over for dinner spontaneously, but I was in the movies with another friend. And on New Year's Day I was invited to meet some friends at a nearby restaurant where they were going for brunch, but I had just eaten lunch. I did ask them to stop by afterwards for cookies, since I was literally two blocks from the restaurant, but the friend did not reply nor stop by. 

While I appreciated these invitations, they also contributed to my feelings of loneliness, because rather than making me feel included, I instead felt like an "afterthought". I don't think I am making this up--both of these invitations were spur-of-the-moment; I was not thought of as part of the original plan. 

I have been thinking lately about the friends I have. I have had some of my friends for decades, and just like any relationship, friendships change over time. They are different when you are in your 30's versus when you are all in your 60's. Some of my friends are less available to me, but to be fair I am also less available to them. But the difference is that I have continued to host events throughout the year, while lacking invitations to any I don't host, with a couple of rare exceptions. It makes me wonder sometimes, is it me?

I recently was happy to be invited to a "vision board" get-together. The friend who invited me is one person who does regularly include me as a guest. In the invitation he mentions that you don't have to attend if vision-boarding is "not your thing", which is thoughtful, but at this point I feel that I would attend even if the theme was eating shit. I am happy to be invited--to anything. Is that sad? 

I recently listened to a podcast where the author Mia Songbird was interviewed about her new book, entitled How We Show Up: Reclaiming Family, Friendship, and Community. She talked about how we live in a culture that does not support "wellness", because wellness does not support the economy that runs on profit. I liked that she talked about how difficult it is to create and maintain community even if you try really hard. What that means to me is that, in answer to my earlier question of "Is it me?", it is not just me. 

While there may be parts of me that people find difficult or challenging, there are also parts that are fun and interesting. But people tend to stay within the lane they are familiar with, and I include myself in that declaration. Come to think of it, I am not always happy to be included, because some of my friend's friends are of no interest to me. Come to think of it, I don't know if I would have wanted to attend that New Year's Day brunch, even if I had been invited the day before, because I am not crazy about feeling stuck at a table where if nothing of interest is being talked about. 

Perhaps that is the part of the problem that is me. I am picky about who I hang out with. I don't want to be around people who are complaining all the time or bitter and negative. I don't like people who are constantly entertaining, where I don't ever feel like I am truly with them. I like to talk about weighty things, I want to know what is going on in someone's squishy internal world. 

Perhaps that is why being a therapist is a good career for me--I get to ask the questions that I want to ask and my clients pay me to do just that. They pay me to go deep into their internal worlds. The unfortunate part of that work is that they do not get to be my friends, no matter how much either of us would like to be. 

Well, that is not entirely true--even though I cannot be friends with my clients, I do have a sort of friendship with some of them--does that make sense? But I am obviously not being invited to their New Year's Eve parties.

I had one individual client who throws an annual Thanksgiving dinner for about 20 guests. He told me that he does all the cooking himself, which is admirable! I told him one time, as a host myself, that I would love to be a "fly on the wall" at one of these dinners just to see how he pulls if off. I remember him telling me that I should come one year and be a guest, but I replied that would not be appropriate. 

How is it that I get invitations to parties I cannot attend? 

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As I move into 2026, Keshav and I will talk more seriously about where we intend to relocate, and for me the major factor in deciding is how available "community" is in the place we want to move. We can only move somewhere where "wellness" is more supported, where community is available, not just through friendship, but also right outside the door in the form of events and gatherings that anyone can attend. I feel that I don't need new friends per say, I need a new community around me. I need community around us. 

I foresee a time where my New Year's Day starts with me setting up a brunch buffet with biscuits, gravy, and scrambled eggs. Where later that day, after cleaning up and napping, I will go to someone's home, or to a community gathering, where I can enjoy a buffet that I did not have to set up. Where community is not necessarily "reciprocal", but certainly "responsive". 

That sounds inviting to me. It sounds like a happy new year.