Cupcakes with Coffee - New Year's Eve Debauchery

There are a few things in life that have consistently let me down: group projects, flat soda, and New Year’s Eve. And before anyone starts clutching their glittery pearls, let me clarify something — I don’t hate change, growth, or the turning of a calendar page. I simply hate the performative we’ve collectively decided to crown as the grand finale of the year.

New Year’s Eve is a holiday built entirely out of pressure. Pressure to have the best night of your life. Pressure to look like the shiniest, glossiest version of yourself. Pressure to manifest a future of cosmic alignment while being packed shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers who smell like a mix of hairspray, cologne, and the faint scent of regret. And pressure, as we all know, is the fastest way to turn a night into a disaster.

Let’s start with the mythology of a 'perfect' New Year’s Eve — a night where you’re supposed to transform into the protagonist of a sparkly coming-of-age movie. Spoiler: that’s not real life. Real life is wondering why you’re standing outside in freezing weather waiting to get into an overcrowded bar where someone will inevitably spill a $16 cocktail on your shoes. Real life is watching couples argue at 11:52 p.m. because one of them wanted to go home hours ago. Real life is the awkward countdown where everyone gets way too close, and you’re forced into the annual ritual of hoping no one leans in for that surprise kiss you absolutely did not consent to.

And don’t get me started on resolutions. Ah yes, the sacred tradition of promising yourself you’ll turn into an entirely new human starting at exactly 12:01 a.m. I love self-improvement — I run a motivational blog, for crying out loud. But even I know the truth: if you weren’t going to clean out your closet in October, you’re not magically doing it because the Earth spun once more around the sun. Self-growth is not a holiday; it’s a habit. A quiet, unglamorous, deeply personal process. And trying to romanticize it with champagne flutes and confetti cannons just feels… dishonest.

The worst part? New Year’s Eve is loud. Not just the fireworks, which are basically small explosions thrown by people who think 'safety instructions' are a suggestion. I mean the whole vibe. The noise of forced excitement. The noise of everyone yelling over bad music. The noise of social expectations screaming in your ear: This night must be epic. Honestly? No, it doesn’t. I don’t need epic. I need comfortable. I need calm. I need something that doesn’t require sequins or shoes with zero arch support.

Maybe that’s the real reason I can’t stand the holiday — it’s the opposite of everything I’ve grown to value. New Year’s Eve is frenzied, and I’m soft-launching into a life of intentional quiet. It’s performance, and I crave authenticity. It’s the illusion of instant transformation, and I know now that the real glow-ups happen on random Tuesdays when no one is looking.

Give me a cozy night in. Give me coffee that won’t get knocked over by a tipsy stranger. Give me a journal and a blanket and the gentle reminder that my life isn’t going to become magical based on the date — it becomes magical when I consistently choose myself, even when no one’s counting down.

So yes, my disdain for New Year’s Eve is loud and proud. Not because I’m a grinch about celebration, but because I’ve learned that genuine joy doesn’t need an audience. It doesn’t need a ball drop. It certainly doesn’t need fireworks. It just needs me — choosing peace over pressure, presence over performance, and authenticity over an artificially hyped night that’s never lived up to its own marketing.

If that makes me the boring one, fine. I’ll be boring with warm socks, a clear mind, and zero regrets. Happy almost New Year’s… or, as I like to call it, just another night. 

"I still don't know what I'm wearing to the living room New Year's Eve. I may not even go." -unknown

Love,

Kate

And HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Now, onto cupcakes.

Cupcakes with Coffee Style:

Cupcakes are tiny acts of joy—soft, sweet reminders that life doesn’t have to be big or perfect to be worth celebrating. They’re the reward after a hard day (mid-day, if necessary), the comfort during a messy one, and pure bliss in edible form. Paired with a good cup of coffee, they’re not just dessert—they’re a moment of pause, a little cheer, and sometimes, the reason you keep going.

To pair with this cupcake (shock), is an Eggnog Latte. Heaven - for me anyway. Recipe HERE.

I'll never forget my father yelling at my three brothers to STOP drinking all the eggnog before the Christmas party. It was like crack to them (so funny).

A little tidbit:

Eggnog originated in medieval Britain as a hot, milky drink called posset, but its name is a combination of "noggin" (a wooden cup) and "grog" (a strong alcoholic drink). It has a history intertwined with U.S. presidential figures like George Washington, who had his own recipe, and was the cause of a historical "eggnog riot" at West Point. The drink is also believed to have been used as a medicinal remedy for the flu. (google.com)

ENJOY!

At the end of the night, New Year’s Eve isn’t some magical portal into a brand-new existence. It’s just another night dressed up in glitter it can’t emotionally afford. And honestly? I’m done pretending it’s anything more than that. I’ll take my peace, my quiet, my steady rituals, and my slow intentions over the noise and pressure any year. While everyone else is chasing a midnight miracle, I’ll be over here choosing myself the unglamorous way — consistently, intentionally, without fanfare and more than likely in my bed before the clock strikes midnight. And maybe that’s the real celebration after all.