Last week I set my dining room table on fire. It turned out to be an important moment of clarity.
More on that in a sec. I need to introduce this blog.
You are reading “Let’s Get One Thing Straight.” I’m Eli, and here I’ll share a weekly opinion, a story, and something that I find useful. This is my very first post…
So, let’s get one thing straight: New Year’s Eve is a vastly UNDERrated holiday.
I know this because, until a couple of days ago, I hated New Year’s Eve. I thought it failed to deliver on grand expectations. Overrated. Trash.
This all changed when the fire started.
You could say I was lighting off fireworks. But not the explosive stuff.
I was pouring flaming kirshwasser onto baked Alaska, whose meringue tips had emerged from the oven a nice golden-brown. Given that it was New Year’s Eve, I took it the extra step to flambé the liquor.
And while the blaze was contained at first, the kirsch spilled out onto the table, and a chair, causing a moment of panic among the collective three-person audience (including Josh Mintz, the official illustrator of this blog).
So, there’s a lesson here not to play with fire. Where have I heard that one before?
But really, the lesson was this: New Year’s Eve is all about the good stuff. No matter how big or small, the joy in the experience is entirely self-made.
After a few years of disappointing—sometimes disastrous—all-inclusive experiences in my early 20s, I figured out that, to me, the night should be smaller, quieter and delicious.
On a chilly New Year’s night a few years ago, my then-girlfriend (now-wife) and I got together with my brother and sister-in-law. We cooked an elaborate menu, made a really strong punch, and listened to music under a disco ball in their living room.
At the end of the night, containers of leftovers from the abundant feast filled the fridge space vacated by Champagne bottles.
After they moved out of town in 2021, we began to host a few friends. We’ve never had more than seven or eight people. Over time, elaborate multi-course dinners have morphed into misfit comforts.
Last week it was caviar (a first for me), chips, homemade chicken fingers and that flaming Alaska. People passed in and out. The baby went to sleep at 8. By midnight, there were only three of us left to step out on the porch and take in the rolling thunder of fireworks in the unseen distance. Sublime.
So much of what disappoints us in our culture was built on someone else’s idea of a good time. Sometimes you have to cut that shit out and look at what you really value.
And so, at the beginning of a fresh year, I come back to renewal.
It starts at home. Not your physical home—well, maybe, if you celebrate New Year’s like I do—but in the part of yourself that you’ve overlooked or taken for granted. Most of us do that at the New Year, but we think about where we’re going. What do you love about your life right now? What’s one thing you’d keep exactly the same?
Write it down! Share it. Resolve to invest in it and build upon it like a foundation.
Then have the courage to improve upon it and share it with those you care about. Take to heart a lyric from one of my dad’s favorite Christmas songs, the obscure (and subversive) “Father Christmas” by Emerson, Lake & Palmer. In it, they sing: “I wish you a hopeful Christmas. I wish you a brave New Year.”
I love to write because it helps me clarify my own point of view, but for the past ten years I’ve treated it as a skill, rather than a talent. I’m investing time this year to change that in this very space.
So, welcome to “Let’s Get One Thing Straight.”
If this story wasn’t for you, I’ll have a completely different thought next week. Hint: It’s about my favorite word right now.
Finally, if you’re reading this post on elihaddow.com, you have my mom to thank. Ten or fifteen years ago, she bought this domain for me with confidence that I’d come up with something fun to do with it.
Well, mom, here it is. Thanks for believing in me—and for telling me not to play with fire.
As for the rest of y’all, I hope to see you back here soon.