Each and Every Year
The Case For Traditions
When I get my Smythson Panama diary each year, the first thing I write down are the Masters dates. Those days are off limits. It’s just Nantz, me, a bottle of Riesling and the wall of green. Spring has arrived.
I’ve written about the Masters before, quite a bit in fact. That’s because I find the tournament is delightful in so many ways. But in a broader sense I like annual traditions. Seasons mark the calendar, of course. And sports do too: The Kentucky Derby, the Iron Bowl, opening day of your beloved baseball team (which really belongs in April—late March feels wrong).
If you’re lucky you have traditions handed down to you. But why not start your own? Host a black tie Oscar party. Start a monthly poker game. Go to the Nutcracker every December. Ask some friends to read a Tolstoy novel then get together and talk about it and drink some good wine and talk about that. Now it’s a book club and a wine club.
You might want to go on a salmon trip, if you’re truly diabolical. I love all fishing trips but I really love the annual trips because then you and your friends have a shared history. That was the year the wind was awful or somebody caught their record bonefish. Sometimes planning far in advance backfires (who knows what the weather will be?), but irrationality is part of the fun. Not everything has to be logical, nor should it.