A New Year

A new year. There’s something so exciting about the prospect of starting over, not from scratch, but from the opportunity to have a new perspective on life. I left the New Year’s Eve party early this morning, hoping to come home and get some sleep. I opened the front door to leave and suddenly the world seemed to burst open with everything I could ever dream of. It was like a scene from a children’s movie, where a door leads to another universe. It was the wardrobe door that leads to Narnia. That’s what it felt like.

The sky seemed so large with its sporadic bursts of clouds hovering before a vibrant blue background. It was the color of one of my dearest friend’s eyes when he stands in just the right light. It was beautiful. Having grown tired of my party shoes five minutes into the night, I walked across the front lawn to my car barefoot. The grass was so cold and wet beneath my toes. I breathed in deeply, savoring the sweet moisture in the air. It felt like my first breath.

It felt like the first time I had ever seen the world, everything glowing in the soft light of morning. The universe radiated a sense of freshness, of birth, of life. The earth burned with possibility.

When I arrived home, the streets of Manayunk bustled with people leaving their parties from the night before, everyone slowly and quietly making their way to their cars. There was something really lovely about knowing that we were all feeling the same way, tired and happy and ready for our new year to begin. I couldn’t find a parking spot and had to park a few blocks away. I walked barefoot with my shoes in my hand, my hair a mess, my makeup smeared around the edges of my eyes. I looked like a complete disaster. I smiled. Sometimes looking like a fool is the best way to feel free.

In the year 2005 I thought about death more than I have at any other time in my life. I thought about how easy it would be to just give up on life, just be done with everything. There was something so appealing about that kind of ultimate peace, so final, so absolute. It seemed to loom over me as an invitation for escape. In truth, I often thought about accepting.

In the year 2006, all twelve hours of it, I have wanted nothing more than to live. Not just to be alive, but to live with such a blaze that nothing can extinguish me before my fire burns out, before I’m meant to go. I haven’t even slept yet, somehow afraid of missing something beautiful if I close my eyes for too long. I want to be awake, wide-awake, always watching and listening and embracing the life around and within me. I’m ready to take on the world.

At around four a.m., Sam and I sat down and discussed our futures. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with myself, what direction to point myself in. I told him I didn’t know what I should do. He said, “write.” I know that it’s impractical, and I know that my life will be more difficult for following my heart over my head, but I can’t imagine that my life would be better in any way if I no longer dreamed the way I do. I still don’t really know what will become of me these next few months, this year of 2006, but this morning I started writing a novel, and while nothing may ever come of it, I’m so glad to have begun. I’m so glad for this new beginning.

Happy New Year.