There’s a certain social-romantic tyranny that persists with regard to the holidays of our lives, from birthdays to Valentine’s Day to even Halloween. And the biggest, baddest, most socially stressful holiday of all is New Year’s Eve: it’s the wedding of holidays; the one that, even if you eschew all the rest, you have to go all-in for; the one with the biggest price point; the one that requires napkins with special sayings.

As with weddings, it’s also the one holiday that, on some level, even very smart people feel should in some way represent themselves and their future, and what is a future in which you die alone? (Maybe quite nice, as dying with people seems inherently problematic, but that’s another matter entirely.)

So, for New Year’s Eve, sequins and dancing and champagne towers and prix fixe menus are “good”. Crowded bars full of single people looking to hook up are “good”. Sitting at home and watching Netflix in your pajamas is less “good” – unless you happen to have the flu, in which case hopefully you’ve got some nice man or lady to bring over some soup and keep you company.

That’s the thing about holidays, especially New Year’s Eve: it’s never enough to simply have fun doing whatever you happen to like to do. Instead, you are supposed to have love on your arm and in your heart (and possibly leather pants on). Or, you should be actively seeking a coupling, for one night and/or for forever (also while wearing leather pants). You’re single? Get out there! What are you doing? You simply can’t stay home on New Year’s Eve!

Is that the tone you want to set for your whole year? You, alone? You, alone ... forever?

Not only must you go out: according to Wikipedia – an authority on all things – “Some hold the superstition that failing to kiss someone [on New Year’s Eve] ensures a year of loneliness.”

Whom to smooch? Well, your husband or wife, your girlfriend or boyfriend. Barring that, a friend, a stranger, the dog, the bartender who served you five Manhattans and now surely regrets it. Who cares! Just pucker your lips and stick the landing.

That is the pervasive, somewhat pathological tradition of the New Year’s Eve kiss, as seen in no less than 23,002 Lifetime movies. When Harry leaned into Sally, finally; when Chandler and Monica made out in front of their Friends; or when Stanford and Anthony locked lips; or when that one year someone licked my face and a little bit of the corner of my mouth, we all cheered and thought: THIS IS WHAT LIFE IS SUPPOSED TO BE. GO US.

And yet, my favorite memories of New Year’s Eves don’t include much kissing and virtually no face-licking. I remember a New Year’s Eve where I had the honor of being not kissed but, instead, puked on by a guy on whom I had a crush. It was definitely unforgettable; if we’d kissed, surely that would be long forgotten.

There was also an unforgettable New Year’s Eve during which a taxi dropped me off at an address where a friend told me the party would be, and where I instead found a boarded-up empty building and – luckily – a pay phone nearby that meant I was calling my friend for the right address just as midnight struck. I spent another unforgettable New Year’s Eve watching the ball drop on TV with my mom and my brother after my dad went to bed already. We tooted our retractable party horns and mine came back to hit me in the face and we all laughed for half an hour.

A stream of socially obligated kisses with people I almost certainly wouldn’t still care about kind of fade into the background when there’s all that.

Make no mistake, I’m not anti-kissing. I’m anti-kissing when kissing is a performative ritual meant to make people feel superficially better about their unexamined lives (and to make those who don’t kiss feel worse). I’m kind of anti-group-kissing, but maybe it’s just that I’ve never been a joiner.

But by all means, swap all the saliva you ever have wont to do, when and where and if you please. But know that if you don’t have a New Year’s Eve kiss, that’s perfectly fine and might be the healthier thing altogether, particularly depending on who’s standing around as the clock strikes midnight. (Avoid the stranger with the braces and the aggressively pierced tongue is what I’m saying.) Plus, as for that whole not-wanting-to-die-alone thing, it’s not as if the majority of New Year’s Eve kisses are statistically known to lead to lasting relationships.

The best thing about the New Year’s Eve kiss, whether you partake or not, is what comes after, when you get started on everything you really want to do next year. Go places you’ve never been and work harder and read and write; hit the gym more and drink (almost) as much green juice as you do wine; treat yourself with kindness; meet someone you really like, or a lot of those types of people. Hug your friends and family and enjoy the minutes and hours and the next 364 days. You’ve got a whole year ahead of you. One little New Year’s Eve kiss – already so soon gone – has nothing on that.