Here’s to another year, and let’s hope it’s above ground.
– From The Stone Diaries, by Carol Shields.
Not even I, with my faux coolness, can resist the symbolism of the new year. Logically, it’s nothing more than continuation, or even an arbitrary transition. But I can’t help but feel the momentous-ness of this shiz. [Not unlike me and my mother and my little cousins looking up at the New Year’s Eve sky with our mouth agape–“Why do we do this, Mom? Because, ooh, shiny-pretty lights!”] The Universe may be cackling behind a shower of stars, but I do feel as though I’ve been given the authority to wipe the slate clean. It is the new year and, suddenly, there are better things, there are spankin’-new opportunities–to laugh at myself, to fall on my butt, to laugh at myself all over again, I guess. It’s not so much a reinvention or that the aforementioned slate really is wiped clean–as it is a blessing to proclaim, “Yeah, we’ll get better at getting it right this time,” and mean it.
So here’s to 2012. I don’t know what the Universe has in store for me, but you can expect that I’m more than willing to arm-wrestle it, drink it under the table, out-fucking-read it, for good things to come my way, and stay warm and fuzzy by my side.
I would be honored and tickled muchly pink to have you guys with me when that happens.