I like traditions. They are things that were established long before you (or even by you) that repeat themselves in some sort of pattern (every year, every month, every whenever I want to). They gives us some sense of belonging, some sense of being.
My new year’s eve tradition is to wear something white and something new. They can be the same things, the same article of clothing, but they must be present. Usually (but not always) my underwear is brand new. The white part is to call for peace in the year that comes. You can also wear other colors: red for passion, pink for love, yellow for gold/money, etc. But the white for peace is necessary, at least for me.
Something else I like to do at this time of the year is a puzzle. I like to start putting the puzzle together on the 31st of December and finishing it on the first day of the new year. I don’t know why (and I do not do this every year) but I just love it.
This year (after quite a few skipping this particular tradition of mine) I decided to put together my old 1008-piece puzzle.
It was great finding each little piece, trying them to see if they fit, looking for a particular one shaped just in the right way. There’s something about putting together a puzzle you already know that I can’t quite describe. It’s like revisiting an old friend after a long time apart. It’s familiar and comforting and full of memories.
And here is the finished puzzle, now with only 1007 pieces since my cousin lost one over a decade ago when I let him borrow it.
But it’s not about finishing the puzzle, it’s the journey, it’s the time spent putting the pieces together. It’s feeling like a child again, with not a worry in your mind but the thought of finding that tiny piece to fit the space. It’s touching the space where a missing piece should be and remembering you should never let your cousin borrow things with tiny pieces again. It’s touching every single piece put together and smiling.