Christmas says, “Come as you are.”

New Year’s Eve says, “So … what’s the plan?”

And suddenly I’m stressed. Because I don’t have a plan. And now I’m worried that not having a plan is the plan. Staying in? Going out? Watching the countdown? Pretending I don’t care about the countdown while actually caring a lot about the countdown?

Doesn’t everyone secretly want two New Year’s Eves – one where you go out, and one where you stay in – so you can choose correctly in hindsight?

Right now, I’m telling myself I’m going to keep it low-key. Relaxed. Easy. Which is adorable, because by 4:30 p.m. on the 31st, I’ll be standing in the kitchen thinking, “Do we need snacks? Is there a theme? Is it weird to celebrate with chips?” Somewhere between the snacks and the music, the night quietly stops being low-key!

The pressure is subtle at first. But then it hits. This isn’t just a night – it’s the last night of the year. I can’t waste it. The last thing I need is to look around at 11:47 p.m. and think, “So this is how the year ends. Interesting choice.”

And that’s when the chaos shows up.

Plans change. Texts fly. Someone cancels. Someone else says, “We’re still on, right?” and no one answers because no one actually knows. By 8 p.m., half the group is dressed for something fancy, the other half is already in sweatpants, and everyone insists this was intentional.

Has anyone else noticed that New Year’s Eve has a very specific relationship with clothing? At some point during the evening, someone always asks, “Is this what I’m wearing into the next year?” And suddenly there are outfit changes, supportive encouragement, and a quiet understanding that this isn’t about fashion – it’s about confidence. No one’s trying to look perfect. Everyone just wants to feel ready.

Then there’s the countdown itself. All year long, time moves like it’s sprinting. But on New Year’s Eve, the final 10 seconds last approximately seven minutes. Everyone becomes deeply invested in numbers. Nine! Eight! Someone starts early. Someone panics. Someone yells, “Wait!”

Midnight hits, and there’s a brief moment of joy, confusion and hugging the nearest person – whether you know them well or not. “Happy New Year!” we shout!

And then – almost immediately – the optimism arrives.

By the end of the night, the room is divided into two groups: those who are fully awake and those who are pretending to be. Both groups insist they’re fine.

This is the part I actually love. The quiet promise that slips in after the noise. The shared feeling that tomorrow – or technically later today – things could be a little better. Or at least different. We talk about goals. We talk about change!

New Year’s resolutions get a bad reputation, but I admire them. They’re not contracts. They’re small acts of belief in yourself. They say, “I don’t have this figured out yet, but I’m willing to try again.”

By the time New Year’s Day arrives, the world feels quieter. The lights are softer. The urgency is gone. The year is brand new – untouched – like a notebook with one clean page and no instructions. You don’t have to solve everything today. You just have to begin somewhere.

And that’s what sneaks up on me every year. Not the party. Not the countdown. Not even the optimism. It’s the relief. The sense that whatever last year was – messy, loud, unfinished – it’s now officially behind us. You don’t have to carry all of it forward.

So if your New Year’s Eve is perfect, great. If it’s chaotic, awkward, quiet or spent wondering if it’s too early to go to bed, that counts too. The year doesn’t care how you rang it in. It just shows up anyway.

Here’s to fresh starts, second chances, and the quiet belief that you don’t have to become a new person overnight – just a slightly braver version of the one you already are.

Happy New Year!

• Toby Moore is a Shaw Local News Network columnist, star of the Emmy-nominated film “A Separate Peace,” and CEO of CubeStream Inc. He can be reached at feedback@shawmedia.com.