The New Year is only minutes away. The TV is on. My wife is snoring softly as I watch a perky, hip television host deliver a broadcast live from Times Square, speaking in a tone of voice not unlike a squirrel on amphetamines.

So I change the channel to see Miley Cyrus hosting a New Year’s special while wearing a strand of dental floss.

My phone rings. It’s an unrecognizable number. Maybe a spam call. I answer.

“Hello?”

The voice is male, with a pronounced Hindi accent. “Are you Shane Deeter?”

“Not exactly.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fairly.”

Whereupon the caller informed me that he had important information about my automotive warranty. He was very adamant about this, and assured me that he could definitely assist me more effectively if he could gain access to my AmEx number.

I reminded him that this was New Year’s Eve. He replied, “That’s why this is so important, Sam.”

What a nice guy.

He was mid-speech when I hung up. Then it suddenly occurred to me that New Year's Eve has always made

me a little sad. I don’t know why, exactly. But I always choke up when people sing “Auld Lang Syne.”

What is it about this holiday that gives me the blues?

Maybe it’s the idea that time keeps moving faster. Or maybe it’s the idea that I’m getting older. Or maybe it’s the way everyone pretends to be excited about even though January 1 is no different than, say, August 23, or May 9.

But do you want to hear something bizarre? Even though, admittedly, this upcoming year scares the stew out of me, for once in my life, the New Year worries me less than it has in the past.

Probably because I know upfront that this year will be exactly like every other year. Likely, it will bring heartache, happiness, pain, and the agony of watching your football team…