Dear 2017,
Where do I begin? Can I first say thank you? Thank you for getting me here. For letting me stand in the snow, half a foot deep, in boots that have cracks in the soles, and tights not thick enough for 4-degree weather to ring in the new year. It feels good to be this cold. For my face to be frozen, for my lips to be chapped, for my fingers to be numb. Thank you. Thank you for making kisses from Kevin warm me up and glasses of champagne tickle my tummy. Thank you for making the reflection of fireworks in a field full of snow wake me up to new possibilities. To a new sense of awe. To a new sense of worth.
It was an amazing year. But you know what, this year is going to be better. Because this year is going to be different. This year I’m really going to try. I’m really going to live. This year I’m going to get a job I love, that pays me well, that I don’t question why I’m going to every day. This year I’m going to run faster. I’m going to be stronger. I’m going to learn how to do a perfect headstand. This year I’m going to love more. My family. My kitty cats. My friends. Most importantly, myself. This year I’m going to love it the fuck up.
This year I’m going to meditate. On the future. On the here. On the now. This year I’m going to think about where I want to go next year. Where I want to live. What I want to do. What I want to grow. This year I’m going to have a garden. I’m going to grow my own carrots. I’m going to plant my own sunflowers. This year I’m going to get my hands dirty. This year I’m going to let go. Of control. Of holding on too tight. This year I’m going to let somebody else do the dishes. Take out the trash. Make the bed.
This year I’m going to dance. I’m going to dance like the whole world is watching and I’m going to laugh. This year I’m going act my age. Or maybe a few years younger or maybe a few years older. This year I’m going to take naps. I’m going to dream big dreams while I do it. This year I’m going to relearn Hindi. I’m going to have a rock climbing party for my birthday and finally use that purple harness my ex-boyfriend gave me for my birthday years ago. This year I’m going to learn to ski. I’m going to pay all my bills on time. I’m going to get renters insurance. This year I’m going to make my own kombucha. This year I’m going to grow my hair past my boobs.
This year I’m going to learn how to make eggs. I’m going to bake something new once a week. I’m going to look at my phone less. I’m going to call my sisters more. This year I’m going to dust off my records and play a different one every day. This year I’m going to wear more yellow. I’m going to look at every stranger I pass and smile. This year I’m going to make more snow angels. I’m going to take more bubble baths. I’m going to read more poetry.
This year I’m going to pick up my pen. This year I’m going to write. I’m going to slam my words against the page. I’m going to tell stories. I’m going to sing them at the top of my lungs. I’m going to submit to magazines. And journals and reviews. I’m going to get rejected. I’m going to keep trying. I’m going to keep writing. More and more. This year I’m going to get published. I’m going to read my name printed under a list of writers. This year I’m going to get my break. This year my book will have a birthday.
2017, it has been a great year. But I’m sorry to say, 2018 is going to be better. It’s going to be brighter. It’s going to be happier, healthier, higher. It’s going to be tough, it’s going to be real, it’s going to be scary, it’s going to be beautiful. It’s going to be new. And I like the look of that.
2017, I love you more than all the memories and states and sunsets you’ve given me.
But forgive me when I say, 2018 is going to kick your ass.
Because this year a hurricane is coming. Brace yourself. xoxoxoxox