I’m not a big fan of New Year’s Eve. I don’t like to be told when to be festive and merry based on the calendar. I don’t like driving when there are so many drunks on the road. (My friends, once heavy drinkers now in recovery, refer to December 31 as “amateur night.”) But I do like that it signals the coming end of the holiday season. And I like my own traditions that I follow on the last night of each year. As I used to do with my friend Nick and his parents, I jump off the couch into the new year at exactly midnight (if I’m still awake.) I write down a list of resentments -- against people, places, things -- and throw the list into the fireplace before midnight, hoping that these won’t follow me into the new year. Lately my lists have mostly contained things about myself that I’d like to shed. I guess that’s progress.