new year

The new year is a few days old. It started like the one before, with fireworks by the Thames. Just like last year, I went down to the river when it was almost too late. To get a prime viewing spot in front of the London Eye, one has to arrive before 8 pm. After that, the embankment is full and the tube station closed.

I got to Temple after 11, and crowds were heaving in every direction. A D.J. from the BBC played music and hotted up the masses, broadcast live on national radio and blasted through the cold air of the night with the help of a five-meter tall speaker dangling off the arm of a crane.

The countdown to midnight ended in a big cheer, and explosions of fireworks rocked from the colorfully illuminated ring of the Eye. I liked them much better than last year's; next year I'll try to get to the river early enough to camp directly in front of the Eye.

With a small bottle of champagne and two glass flutes, we were an island of civilization in the sea of kids drunk on music, euphoria and cheap booze. While the party raged around us, I greeted my own new year and contemplated the future.

Earlier, I wrote a bit about things to try, things to change and things to abandon. This came out unnecessarily negative and defeatist. I don't intend to scrap activities that fill my time with purpose and me with joy just because of the slight obstacle of ineptitude. If I have fun doing something, I'll continue doing it.

However, at the moment my spare time is overflowing with activities and hobbies, and none gets what it is due. In light of this I cannot follow the maxim, put forth by the folks at despair.com, that if you can't learn to do something well, you'd better learn to enjoy doing it poorly. In my opinion, life's too short to do too many things poorly. I'd rather do a few things well. Consequently, I will curtail some of my clumsier activities and channel the freed time into pursuits with potential.

The Lonely Planet's Guide to Travel Writing lies on my desk, looking at me with hope and eagerness. Bruce Chatwin's In Patagonia and Eric Hansen's Orchid Fever form a neat little stack of two right next to it. Where's the future going to take me?