I love New Year's Eve. Love it. I grew up in a family that believed in celebrating the night with friends and loved ones. Well, I should say I grew up in two families that knew how to celebrate; whether I happened to be with Mom or Dad on Dec. 31st, I knew it would be a fun night. I would get to stay up late, eat junk food, and run around the house with my friends while the adults sat in front of the television to watch Dick Clark. We'd drink sparkling cider at midnight and watch as couples in Times Square kissed. I have nothing but warm, fuzzy feelings toward New Year's Eve. Think of the very end of It's a Wonderful Life, and you've got it.
Even as I got older, New Year's Eve didn't lose any of its splendor. Through high school and then through college I saw the night as a chance to reunite with the people who mattered most to me. Granted, there have been some crazy mishaps in recent years. I did, after all, welcome 2009 in the middle of Rock Creek Park, the creepiest, most murderlicious area in DC. And I did, after all, nearly overdose my boyfriend on Claritin as we celebrated the arrival of 2010. But I still love New Year's Eve.
And I love making resolutions. Now just shut up a second before you start ranting about how people shouldn't have to wait for a date on the calendar to make changes in their lives and blah, blah, blah. I know. I'm right there with you. But I am so obsessed with a clean, blank calendar ready to be marked up that I can't help but be excited about organizing and changing and growing in the upcoming year. Here are some of my resolution-oriented thoughts for 2011:
1. In 2011, I am going to drink more water. I gave up soda one year as a resolution, and I didn't drink it for 2 years after that. I think I'd like to do that again.
2. In 2011, I would like to be hard to offend. I'm not talking about having a thick skin, and I'm not talking about not believing in things and fighting for them. I'm talking about taking people as they are, even if we aren't on the same wave-length. It's difficult to love people if I'm too busy being offended by them.
3. In 2011, I am I going to be a less jealous/more awesome girlfriend. 'Nuff said.
4. In 2011, I am going to abandon my worries. I have let myself wallow in worry and worst-case-scenarios for too long. I don't know when I became that person.
5. In 2011, I AM GOING TO GRADUATE SCHOOL! :)
New Year's Eve wasn't perfect this year. 2010 wasn't perfect. 2011 won't be. But on January 1, 2011 I woke up and was reminded that I'm not stagnant, as much as the post-undergrad blues have made me feel as such. Rather, I am a work in progress. I'm a rough draft. Lucky for me, I have a really good Editor.
So I'm super-stoked about 2011. So far, I: smooched the boy I'm crazy about, got free coffee from Sheetz, completed the application to my number one grad school choice, ate an amazing dinner with my family, played video games with my mom, cuddled with my dog, didn't have to go to work.
And tomorrow is going to be great too.
I hope this is the least nauseating post of 2011.
Happy New Year. :)
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Declaration of Independence
So I'm back in the blogging spirit.
A few days ago, I was reminiscing with a friend over my old high school blog posts. Much became clear: first, I was substantially more entertaining back in those days; second, I've changed a lot since then; third, I was more of a writer then than I've been my entire college writing career. It was like my high school self had it made. She had a voice, albeit a young and very Holden Caulfield-esque voice. She had an endless cornucopia of writing material, albeit the typical stuff of every high schooler. She took the mundane and every day crud and made it worth reading - and isn't that what every writing guru in my life has ever told me I should strive to do? She had a sense of humor, she had a sense of the bigger picture, she had a sense of spiritual awareness. She was smart and observant.
What the hell happened?! Has college really squashed so much of that former writer? Or did I just grow out of it?
I am sitting here on the same computer that wrote those feisty posts of yesteryear to tell you that I refuse to be separated from my inner high school writer. Yes, they have worked hard to stomp it (the immature writer) out of me, but, in the process, I fear they've managed to infect me with some bad habits. They've taught me to be inhibited and afraid; I have lost my ability to write without the fear of criticism. They've taught me that some topics of discussion are more worthy than others; I have lost my ability to write without censoring myself. They've taught me to think and to be so concerned with the final product that I have little satisfaction in the process of writing - the discovery of it, the therapy of it, the feeling of ease I used to have with it.
So yippee for you, University. You're big. You're intimidating. You're proud. You're turning out graduates who may go on to do wonderful, writerly things. They may even get published and make it big some day. But University, I'm telling you this. I am unlearning some of the things you've tried to teach me. I'm tapping back into the deep pools of immaturity and freedom. I'm releasing my inner teen. I'm going back to enjoying myself when I write. I'm not even going to proofread this before I publish it! (Okay, I might.) (Okay, I just did.) (Twice.) (Three times.)
And with this brave speech, with this small declaration of independence from The Man, I am initiating this new blog. Be it what it may - good, bad, or ugly. Or immature. Or inappropriate. Or self-indulging.
I'm tapping back in.
Let the experiment begin.
A few days ago, I was reminiscing with a friend over my old high school blog posts. Much became clear: first, I was substantially more entertaining back in those days; second, I've changed a lot since then; third, I was more of a writer then than I've been my entire college writing career. It was like my high school self had it made. She had a voice, albeit a young and very Holden Caulfield-esque voice. She had an endless cornucopia of writing material, albeit the typical stuff of every high schooler. She took the mundane and every day crud and made it worth reading - and isn't that what every writing guru in my life has ever told me I should strive to do? She had a sense of humor, she had a sense of the bigger picture, she had a sense of spiritual awareness. She was smart and observant.
What the hell happened?! Has college really squashed so much of that former writer? Or did I just grow out of it?
I am sitting here on the same computer that wrote those feisty posts of yesteryear to tell you that I refuse to be separated from my inner high school writer. Yes, they have worked hard to stomp it (the immature writer) out of me, but, in the process, I fear they've managed to infect me with some bad habits. They've taught me to be inhibited and afraid; I have lost my ability to write without the fear of criticism. They've taught me that some topics of discussion are more worthy than others; I have lost my ability to write without censoring myself. They've taught me to think and to be so concerned with the final product that I have little satisfaction in the process of writing - the discovery of it, the therapy of it, the feeling of ease I used to have with it.
So yippee for you, University. You're big. You're intimidating. You're proud. You're turning out graduates who may go on to do wonderful, writerly things. They may even get published and make it big some day. But University, I'm telling you this. I am unlearning some of the things you've tried to teach me. I'm tapping back into the deep pools of immaturity and freedom. I'm releasing my inner teen. I'm going back to enjoying myself when I write. I'm not even going to proofread this before I publish it! (Okay, I might.) (Okay, I just did.) (Twice.) (Three times.)
And with this brave speech, with this small declaration of independence from The Man, I am initiating this new blog. Be it what it may - good, bad, or ugly. Or immature. Or inappropriate. Or self-indulging.
I'm tapping back in.
Let the experiment begin.
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