He would have been the first to describe himself as a nerd.
In fact, he probably included that in his response to my Craig’s List post decades ago for the spare room I was renting in my Chinatown loft.
Looking at his LinkedIn profile now, it’s full of things I don’t completely understand, like “Principal Cloud Solution Architect” — which, oddly enough, sounds quite poetic.
Besides being a techie, he was devoted to all things Lord of the Rings, Star Trek, and James Bond—the latter greatly influencing his personal style.
In fact, on the one occasion when his rent check bounced, his apology included a round of vodka martinis and paying me the amount due with hundred dollar bills, ones he dramatically removed from an aluminum, secret agent-worthy briefcase.
As delightful as that moment was, however, it’s not the most memorable contribution he made to my life.
For many years, I taught an annual New Year’s Eve class at my favorite NYC yoga center.
It began at 10pm and ended at midnight.
I was never surprised at how quickly it always sold out.
For many (myself especially), it was the perfect way to spend an often dreaded, high-pressure-to-have fun night.
It meant starting the year doing something good for your body and spirit, in the company of positive people, all set to a killer playlist.
I still treasure those memories.
Those classes have been on my mind lately because this year, I’ve decided to teach a free online workshop on January 1st, New Year’s Day.
I’m still mapping out the content but it’ll be short (probably 30 minutes or so), online (obviously), and focused on creative visualizations and intention setting for the year ahead.
You can sign up for it HERE.
There is one element from that old New Year’s Eve workshop wish I could include, but alas, I cannot.
More about that in a moment…
I’ve always been charmed by what Candy Spelling, wife of 1980s mega-producer Aaron Spelling (The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Dynasty etc.), had in her LA mansion: her own gift-wrapping room.
I’m not alone.
The idea of having an entire room solely for gift wrapping captured the public’s imagination and became a talking point about the opulence of the Spelling estate and sometimes the decadence of that decade.
While I dare not compete with Candy, I’m proud to boast that I now have a gift-wrapping cupboard—two shelves in a console in my office dedicated to the same purpose.
Along with some gift bags, wrapping paper, and bows there are items such as various favorite candles I’ve picked up for last-minute gifts.
Alas, I was saddened to find this week a gift I’d purchased months ago, but wonder if I will ever be able to bestow.
The intended recipient is more or less removed from my life.
Thus, I’m just not sure what to do with the gift I bought for them this summer on eBay.
Delighted to have made the purchase at the time, now every possibility makes me a little sad.
When I was creating the first version of the New Year’s Eve workshop years ago, I shared with my nerdy loft-mate that wished I could offer some kind of letting go ritual, one that had a bit of dramatic oomph to it.
I wanted to do something involving fire but couldn’t think of a way it would be safe, especially in a packed class of 50+ students.
Drawing on his nerdy roots in stage magic, my roommate suggested I use flash paper—something I’d never heard of before.
Flash paper is a type of specially treated paper that magicians use for close-up magic tricks.
It burns very quickly and brightly, producing a dramatic flash of flame with no ash or residue left behind.
Most importantly, because flash paper ignites instantly and burns out so quickly, it seemed perfectly safe.
It’s fast enough that you can even hold it in your hand or toss it up in the air.
And so, ever since, in all sorts of workshops—even some corporate ones—I’ve had students sit around a candle, writing down whatever they wanted to release from their life, and then one by one, dip the paper in the flame.
Here’s a pic from one such moment last year at the Yoga for Sight workshop I taught to benefit Seva.
Here’s the thing about the un-given gift sitting in my cupboard.
It’s a book, one which transformed my teenage life.
In fact, I got the same vintage edition I first read, knowing the intended recipient, although a huge fan of the movie, had never read the original source material.
It’s highly specific in other words, and not just something I’d casually regift to someone else.
I certainly don’t need to have two copies side by side on my bookshelf, but at the same time, it feels even sadder to drop it off at Goodwill.
More than that, it feels like letting go of such a gift means giving up hope for the relationship.
Theodore Roosevelt wisely said that “Comparison is the thief of joy.”
Especially as the year draws to a close, and particularly in our ruthlessly curated social media culture, I’m reminded of Emerson’s non-comparative definition of success.
“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate the beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded!”
If you do find yourself evaluating your year, I suggest these be your standards.
I have many more stories about that loft-mate, but the best ones probably aren’t fit for public consumption.
I will think of him, though, when I do my own private fire ceremony with Vlad on New Year’s Eve and however I adapt it for the online workshop the next day as well.
In fact, I know the workshop is going to have the same fundamental structure as my January Move Into Magic course:
- Clearing (releasing what no longer serves you)
- Embracing Waiting (staying present and trusting the timing)
- Welcoming Magic (setting intentions and letting go)
- Exploring (remaining open and aware)
If you’re eager to start 2025 with more magic, you can join me for FREE by signing up HERE.
I Want to Start 2025 with MAGIC!
Here’s something else that’s really resonating for me, especially at this time of year.
From the poet Claudia Rankine:
“I don’t know about forgiving, but it’s an ‘I’m still here.’
And it’s not just because I have nowhere else to go.
It’s because I believe in the possibility.
I believe in the possibility of another way of being.
Let’s make other kinds of mistakes;
let’s be flawed differently.”
Honestly, the invitation to make other kinds of mistakes may be the best offer I’ve had all year.
One final sidebar:
Last week I got my annual eye exam.
As the doctor wrote my new prescription, she told me there was only the slightest difference in one eye.
Here’s the funny thing though.
What she didn’t tell me was that the change was an improvement.
Despite my non-chronological mindset, I assumed it meant a slight decline.
Instead, I see things just a tiny bit more clearly than before.
On January 1st, I’ll invite you to question any such assumptions about your past year and—even though I can’t pass around flash paper—to let go of anything holding you back.
Most importantly, echoing Beckett’s famous aphorism to “Fail Better,” in 2025 I invite us all to “be flawed differently” and to make lots of “other kinds of mistakes.”
There are still a lot of gifts to be given…and maybe your vision’s getting clearer, too.
