As the clock strikes twelve, corks pop, fireworks scatter across the sky, and the world pretends to agree on the magic of a new beginning. But have you ever paused to wonder why we get so excited about a page flipping on a calendar? January 1st has no cosmic importance—just another sunrise, another lap in this endless waltz of time. It’s a bit like celebrating the 5,879th circle you’ve walked around your coffee table—arbitrary, but oddly satisfying. Philosophers, of course, never let a party pass without questions. Is time a line? A circle? Or just an illusion we’re all tricked into? While the rest of us raise champagne glasses, some thinker out there is probably sighing that we’re cheering for another spin in a dance that never ends. I like that image though—the Earth as a ballroom floor, us tiny dancers spinning whether we know the steps or not. History isn’t any clearer. Not everyone celebrates on this night. The Chinese wait for their lunar rhythm, India celebrates dozens of “new y...