“Happy New Year.”

We say it every year, to pretty much everyone we see, because that’s the thing to say in January.  Do we mean it?

Well, of course, to some extent.  Who doesn’t have a generic sense of goodwill towards the world at large after several weeks of holiday indulgences? Who doesn’t support the idea of a year of happiness to replace the year of whatever-it-was that just concluded?

But really, much like with “How are you?” and other empty social conventions, we aren’t particularly interested in the type of year most people have just had, nor in the particularities of the year ahead of them.  We just want a seasonal alternative to “Hi!”

We may gaze fondly at our dearly beloveds at 11:59 on December 31 and offer them our affectionate good wishes.  We may encourage those closest to us to pursue their dreams with optimism.  But in general, we settle for a blanket “Happy New Year,” spread with equal (dis)interest over great populations of distant acquaintances, and consider our festive duty done.

In my family, this annual dissimulation of goodwill has traditionally taken the form of a “Family Letter” reminding others of our largely unchanging existence; and being a literary type, I am often the one tasked with trying to make our lives sound interesting.  My earnest attempts at creativity have included detailed profiles of each family member, illustrated by elaborate collages and laced with carefully-crafted witticisms.  The resulting epistle was typically sent to Everybody, with instructions to pass it on to Everybody Else.  It was posted on social media, and maybe on my blog.  Just to make sure that Every Possible Person had access to my self-absorbed ramblings. 

But this year I did something different.

This year, each person in the family got one sentence (except for me; I took three).  I included one decidedly amateurish photo.  I sent it to my aunts and uncles.  And that was it.

Why this holiday humbug, you ask? Why such a spiritless half-effort at obligatory communication?

I’ll tell you.

It’s because I decided that instead of sending an impersonal greeting willy-nilly into the cosmos, without any regard whatsoever for its readers, I would actually, in my heart of hearts, extend a real, sincere “Happy New Year” to living human beings.  There would be no cc’s or bcc’s.  There would be no copying or pasting.  There would be no “Hey! Look at me and my wonderful life!”  In fact, there would not be a single tidbit of unsolicited information about anything at all.  No, instead I would extend a personalized greeting not to Everyone, or to Everyone Else, but to Some.  And I did.

I started by going through the “friends” list on my Facebook account, and then through my email contacts.  Systematically.  Name by name.  I thought about each person.  What is happening right now in their lives? What kind of year are they having? In many cases, I had to admit that I had no idea.  It’s possible that we were once dear friends, but that we haven’t seen each other since high school.  Or maybe we are mere acquaintances, but I’ve never taken the time to find out what their lives are like.  Maybe we are related, but haven’t had a real conversation since our childhood.  Maybe they are confident, outgoing people who seem to have no need of my well-wishes.  Maybe I envy their picture-perfect lives.  Maybe they don’t even remember me.  No matter.  Happy New Year to them, too.

What I learned is that it takes a bit of a risk, and a lot of time, to name your friends and acquaintances one by one and write a thoughtful greeting to each one.  I did so with very low expectations.  But the results were incredible.

One by one, the responses began to trickle in.  And then pour in.  And then flood in – dozens of red notification flags each day, signaling that there are in fact human beings out there on the other side of my words.  From some, it was just a quick “Happy New Year to you, too!”, a quiet, mutual acknowledgement of one another’s ongoing existence.  From others, it became an exchange of a few short paragraphs, with brief updates on the events of the year – a sort of reciprocal status update in short prose.  All very courteous.  Warm, even.

But what surprised me most was the number of people who opened their remarks with expressions of “pleasant surprise.”  People who lived far enough in my past that it felt a little awkward to suddenly reappear out of nowhere with an isolated greeting; people who said they were just talking about me with some mutual friends the previous day; people who remembered, after all this time, the passing connection we once shared.

Out of these re-connections there emerged intimacies I would not have dreamed of.  I learned of major life changes – births, deaths, marriages, separations, moves, career changes, hopes, despairs, joys, and griefs – that I never would have imagined based on the shiny profiles that we present to one another publicly.  With some people I had meaningful conversations that never would have emerged in “real life,” where we simply don’t have the time or opportunity to have such personal encounters.  I discovered that the challenges I am currently working through are replicated across the globe in the lives of people who seemed to “have it all together.”  I learned that people’s silences may result from feelings of isolation rather than indifference.  And I learned, once again, of the power of words.

I am at a time of transition in my life, in which I often feel nostalgia for a past I have left behind and uncertainty about a future that is not yet clear to me.  After four years abroad, I’ve returned to this home-that-is-not-home, and I’m acutely aware of my own social isolation.  I am trying to figure out what my “present” actually looks like, and who it really includes.

What I learned, or what I think I learned, is that we are all living in that unsettling present between the past and the future.  All of life is a transition, and we are all seeking connections and re-connections along the way.  It can be uncomfortable to reach out to one another through those inevitable divides of time and space.  It can be tempting to simply wish the whole world well and then swap out our dog-eared calendars for a set of crispy, unused months.  But a handful of words, spoken directly to another human being’s heart, can spark renewals of a different sort.  Those words, and the intentions behind them, have the potential to populate our upcoming year with friendships that would otherwise lie dormant or, worse, remain entirely undiscovered.  They allow us a certain proximity to one another in an increasingly isolating world.  Words matter.  So indeed, say “Happy New Year,” “Happy Birthday,” and “Happy Everything Else” to whomever you wish – but say it softly, reverently, with an ear for a response.