For the new year . . .

New Year’s Eve. By definition, “eve” is the day immediately before an event or occasion. It’s likely we’ll use the transition from 2016 to 2017 to look forward to the days ahead, perhaps with resolutions for improved behavior (diet and exercise usually top that list).

Yet we also use this passage of time to reflect upon the year we’re leaving behind. We’ll read of the top ten news events of 2016, as well as the losses that shook our world, such as the deaths of famous people, the loss of those we loved, and even the demise of “The Good Wife.”

One such loss is the ending of “The Diane Rehm Show,” a NPR radio program that began as a 1979 show designed for homemakers. Rehm’s frustration with that format led to her demand to her boss: “I’m bored. I’m really bored. Unless I can change this show and do politics, do science, do medicine, do everything that’s happening in the world, I’m outta here.” Consequently, “The Diane Rehm Show” was instituted in 1984, and, as NPR colleague David Folkenflik noted, “It became a place for policies to get dissected and politicians to get tested.”

I’m glad Diane Rehm got bored. Not just because of those interviews on policy and politics, as informative as they’ve been, but also because Rehm welcomed many voices to her show. In the week following her final live broadcast, she aired her favorite interviews from the archives. I was hoping for poet Maya Angelou or actress Julie Andrews, but they didn’t appear – but authors Maurice Sendak (Where the Wild Things Are) and J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter) did.

Rehm also selected a poignant conversation with Fred Rogers to broadcast again. Their slow, thoughtful talk, about parents and children, voice, and the life and care for others was precious in retrospect. She remembers: “I’ll never forget talking with Mr. Rogers. He was in Pittsburgh at his piano and he was doing all those wonderful voices. And I said to him, ‘Mr. Rogers, what do you do when you’re sad?’ I don’t know why I asked him that, except that he always seemed to be so happy.”

Mr. Rogers responded: “I play the piano. I think I’ll be playing the piano a lot today.” When asked why, Rogers replied, “Because my stomach hurts.” Rehm notes, “I did not have the courage to say to him, ‘Why does your stomach hurt?’ I was afraid. I was afraid, and he was dead three months later.”

My favorite of these classic interviews was from 2014, with Peter Yarrow and Noel Paul Stookey of “Peter, Paul, and Mary” fame. While missing Mary Traver’s voice, who died in 2009, these two folk singers sang on, and Diane and I sang with them, of lemon trees, five hundred miles, magic dragons, and answers “blowin’ in the wind.”

While I’m not generally a New Year’s resolution person, these last few days with Diane Rehm have encouraged me to formulate commitments for the new year. First, in 2017, I want to sing more. I need to sing “Puff, the Magic Dragon” with the lovely Madelyn Simone and the delightful Elizabeth Holiday, for every child should know the love between a little boy and a magic dragon who “lived by the sea and frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honnah Lee.”

As I sing, I also want to remember. First, the passion of my teen years as I sang along with Peter, Paul and Mary; the hammer, the bell, and “the song I have to sing,” for justice, freedom, and “the love between my brothers and my sisters, all over this land.” I want to remember the stories and the people who have formed my life. I don’t want to forget.

And I want to have courage. I don’t want to be afraid to speak, to act, and to connect, beginning, as Maya Angelou wisely offers, “by doing small, courageous things.”

In 2017, might we sing, even if our voices are raspy or off key. Might we remember, even when the memories are clouded or painful. And might we not be afraid, even in the darkness. Happy New Year.