There’s an old belief that what you do on the first day of the new year foreshadows the rest of it. That bit of wisdom, found in Appalachian, German, and English traditions, might explain why people keep telling me to spend New Year’s Day cleaning. The English and German customs even go further: they say the first person you meet on New Year’s Day determines your luck for the year ahead. Hmm. The Lithuanians have their own saying—”The way you’ll meet the new year is the way you will spend it.” It seems nearly every culture has some version of the idea that the first day sets the tone for all the days that follow.
As for my own traditions, they are simple. I get up feeling good because I don’t drink, and I never bother to stay up late to watch the year turn. Instead, I wake early, make a strong cup of coffee, and enjoy a proper breakfast. Then I sit in my sunroom, watching the sunrise paint the quiet morning. I let myself deliberately waste a few hours—slippers on, brain off—reading a little, maybe turning on the computer, maybe not. The point is not to rush.
By afternoon, I start thinking about dinner. The refrigerator is full of potential: leftover turkey, Christmas ham, and that mysterious assortment of “things that looked good at the time.” Whatever I make, it will be tasty—not from culinary genius, but because I genuinely enjoy leftovers. It’s one of my few reliable skills.
I don’t have a television, so that’s mostly out. If I’m at a friend’s house, we might catch a bit of the Philadelphia Mummers Parade—a tradition that’s as strange and colorful as the city itself. And yes, I will spend part of the day wishing everyone a loud and cheerful “Happy New Year!”—especially those who are nursing hangovers. It’s not malicious, just a little bit of good-natured mischief to start the year off right.
Maybe that’s the real secret to a good year: begin it in comfort, in kindness, and with a touch of humor.
Each year begins as a blank page, but our rituals give it a familiar border. They remind us that life’s meaning isn’t found in resolutions but in the quiet rhythm of being alive and grateful for another sunrise.
If fate really takes notes on January first, I hope it’s paying attention: this year, I plan to start slow, eat well, and keep smiling—even if it annoys someone.
© January 2026 by Peter V. Radatti