Beginnings

So many new beginnings. My life went from one "norm" (although, nothing has really felt "normal" in my life), to one extreme other. I moved on from my old world in NYC at Sony, to a new job I am adoring being challenged by. I find my days filled with an interesting balance of shyness and impulsivity, one constantly trying to cancel the other out. I think it's very interesting how brand new experiences that bring you out of your comfort zone can so often illuminate the conflicting forces within you. Or, maybe that's just me. One second I am poised for attack, the other I am dropping a full cup of coffee all over myself.

Tonight, after coming home, cooking dinner, practicing and now settling in with this laptop and a book, I kept refreshing the same memory in my mind. Maybe because it's finally starting to feel like summer out - the humidity forced us all to huddle into our short sleeves on the overly air-conditioned subway and my apartment smells like a jungle - but the image that kept coming to mind was from when I was probably 12 years old at the pool.

I was visiting my best friend in Albany, Erin, for probably a whole week that summer, and one of our favorite things to do was to go to the pool. She had this massive pool in her town with three different sizes: a kiddie pool, a normal-sized pool for adults and kids, and a 'deep-end only' pool with this high diving board that looked like it was miles above the pool itself. I had a burst of adrenaline upon arriving at the park, and wanted to try every pool. I waited in the long line for the high dive, Erin and her sister Leah watching from the other side of the pool for my turn (both in awe of my bravery, of course!), and boldly ascended the never-ending staircase to the plank at the top. Finally, after a few steps, the boy in front of me dove off and it was my turn. I was on top of the diving board, on top of the world!

...And then I reached the tip of the board. All of a sudden, I realized the lifeguard was several feet BELOW me, perched on top of his post. Erin and Leah were jumping around like little ants, in my imagination, waving and squealing for me to "JUMP!!" And, most terrifying, the water below... was pitch black. I couldn't see the bottom, why - at this angle I felt like if I fell just a little too much to the left I'd land on the fence beside it! I could hear the kids behind me screaming, and with a lurch of nausea I panicked, "I can't go!!!" I shouted to the lifeguard, who was waving for me to jump so the line of kids waiting could have their turn. "You have to!!" He called back, unhelpfully. I froze in panic, and then tried to turn around to go back down the stairs, "NO!! You HAVE TO JUMP!!" The angry line of prepubescent boys yelled back at me. I'm sure I was crying, and at this point I was angry, so realizing I had no choice, I turned back to face the water, screwed up whatever courage I had left, and barreled at light speed off the end and into the pool, splashing a delighted Erin and Leah.

And I loved it.

So many stories go this way: forced to do something terrifying with no escape, keeping you from being able to turn and run back to safety, and with only the dark, cold unknown ahead. It's such a cliche I'm almost embarrassed writing it, except - it didn't occur to me until today why I kept thinking about it. I didn't realize how true it was of my life. I am the over-thinker who weighs all horrible possibilities before taking a leap - so much so that the leap sometimes doesn't happen. But, so often when I look back on my life, the exhilarating moments; the times that blew my mind, changed who I was and made me stronger, were forced upon me. I'd watch others handle change easily, joyfully, like the boys before me on the high dive, but I'd get to my own pinnacle and freeze. Often times, if there was real danger, there was always a way out. But, the times where I needed to move forward, was not allowed to turn back, and just had to leap into the dark, were, and are, the most exciting times in life.

I have my floaties ready for a summer filled with leaps...

Power of No and Yes

The extraordinarily talented Norman Vladimir, helping me celebrate my b'day this January. :)

On my birthday this year, my good friend Norman insisted on one thing: That I make this my year of "Yes."

All of the things I wouldn't have said "yes" to in years past, obviously within reason, I was supposed to begin saying it to, even if it felt out of my comfort zone. "This will change your life this year!" He told me about how he'd applied the very same principal to his life, and the difference it made. (The evidence is obvious if you ever just google the man: http://www.normanvladimir.com/ )

So, I have been slowly but surely applying this principal to each day, and I'll admit - the results are impressive.

What's amusing (to me) about this new tactic, is that for years I was told to learn how to do the opposite. In high school I played sports, danced 6 nights a week, did the musicals, competed for awards for voice and violin, performed at All State/ All Eastern for voice and violin, was an honors student, was in the jazz vocal ensemble, was part of bible study, did the morning announcements, and tutored. Therefore, in my undergrad I happily piled on work as class Secretary, wrote for the school paper, played violin in church quartets, taught private lessons, became an orientation leader, then became an RA, joined Westminster Choir, did tours with said choir, did roles in the musicals and summer program operas, and piled on way too many courses. No wonder in the span of those 4 years I wound up with an ulcer (twice), kidney problems, and was always deathly ill with whatever flu was going around due to my nonexistent immune system and sleep deprivation.

By 2007, after I'd applied and auditioned for 5 different grad schools, I had no voice and was wilting from exhaustion in my voice teacher's studio. This was the point at which she gave me the lecture I will never forget, with one insistent word of wisdom: "Learn to say 'No.'"

She explained to me that if I continued to go through life the way I was: over-extending myself and living with insurmountable stress at the age of 22, I would fall apart before 30. Now, 6 years later, I can see how very right she was about that.

So, in the next two very busy (yet fulfilling, with things I wanted to be busy with), years of graduate school in Rochester, I put that concept in motion. I learned how to tell people "No" when they asked me to join student life groups. I picked two extra-curricular activities to do: soloing in church and private teaching while I performed and went to classes. I said "no," to going out when I could tell my body needed a night in. I spent time with friends out and about in Rochester only when I knew I would enjoy it, or at their apartments, but I reserved most of my R&R time just for me. I learned to love that alone time, and spent it cooking in my apartment, going for jogs down to Amanda's place, or cleaning and doing laundry on a lazy evening in while I'd practice. NO became a wonderful word; a savior. I never felt stretched too thin, was able to focus on what I was in school for, and I developed real friendships (that are still in place today) without guilt or obligation.

But, new habits soon become old/stubborn habits, and this past year I found myself saying "No" to way too many things. It became common practice for me to stick to what I knew; to "Play it safe" in the phase of life after graduation. I felt more comfortable with the people I had already established trust with, and with the activities I'd already set in place for my life. I began to exercise my "no" capabilities far more often than not. I don't necessarily regret that introspection, but I will admit that with closing myself off more came a certain "trapped" feeling, stagnancy, that I realized was an inevitable pitfall of being that way. Habits are formed so quickly, and "NO" was my most frequent habit - for better or for worse.

So, in the last few months I have pushed the boundaries to find an equilibrium I can handle. I have said "yes,'' to new experiences, career paths, friendships, and routines of being out when I'd much prefer to be in. I am still maintaining the "No" for putting too much on my plate, distracting myself from the real living that happens with others, and getting out there experiencing something new in life. It's been more about knowing what I can truly handle without going to the extremes, while being fully open to whatever experiences are coming my way. I've learned things about myself that I can see as "non-negotiables" and be proud of: I really like long meals with friends where we can talk and share. I'm not the introvert I thought I was. When I don't think for ten seconds before I say everything, I am usually a lot clearer. I am good at knowing when it's time to exit something, and when it's time to take a chance. I'm ready for new challenges. I can hem clothing. I don't HAVE to always be talkative to be out with people who are... and so on, and so forth. It's a subtle shift in energy that feels refreshing and exciting, and not in the least bit unhealthy.

It really goes on and on. But I do know that as I've managed to go into some of the less comfortable zones of my life fearlessly, I can only imagine where they might lead in the coming months. And I am very, very excited for Spring.

For Grandpa

Always making me laugh, playing with Grandpa when I was probably 2 years old.

Writing this, I'm aware it's going to be a very sentimental and possibly sad post. But, that's not my intention - it wouldn't be what Grandpa wants, or anyone else in my family for that matter. It's not sad to me, but it is realistic for my life right now, and I hope that makes it okay to write.

My Grandpa Allison (Bob), has been an enormous part of my upbringing for my entire life. From before I can remember, he's been the granddad to sling me over his shoulder, tickle me, nickname me and above all, make it abundantly clear that HE LOVES his grandchildren. In short: for all the negativity and fear of being "too soft" in this world, Grandpa A has always been there to fight back with a huge, beaming smile and an overjoyed, overflowing amount of love. When asked how he is, he has always replied with "I've been blessed! Look at my family! I've been blessed. God's been good to me."

Whether we were unemployed, struggling in school, recently dumped or rejected or on top of the world, he has always loved us with an abundance of affection and joy, never more or less. No matter what our dreams have been, he has always been there to believe in us firmly, with so much praise it would sometimes feel embarrassing. "I just ran on the treadmill a few minutes, Grandpa! I am NOT a future Olympics contender. I don't think." Maybe I am, actually, with his enthusiasm!

Above all else, Grandpa has always had an incredible faith in God. Every time I visited him growing up, I could be sure he'd talk about two things: fitness (he was a physical trainer for many years at the YMCA, and is still in great shape for his age), and his faith. I'd get the same question: "How is your relationship with God going?" (a question I wish more people would ask me about now, actually), followed by the same statement: "You've got a friend in Jesus, and a God that loves you. Don't forget that." He'd go on to say it was well with his soul. I never once doubted it was. In fact, "It Is Well With My Soul," is his favorite hymn, so much so that he would bring it up multiple times whenever I'd visit. My cousin Allison and I even sang it, wobbly voiced and emotional (on my part - Alli sounded awesome), at the surprise concert our family threw for my Grandma and Grandpa Allison's 60th Wedding Anniversary 2 years ago.

As I grew up, I questioned my faith a lot. I went to temple, read texts on Taoism, Buddhism and Reiki. I went to church, joined youth groups, went to bible studies, and sought after what was true in my soul. Sometimes I even didn't appreciate Grandpa's faith because it felt as though I was being told what to believe. (Anyone who knows me understands that there's nothing I fight against more than being told what to feel or think, or judged by either.) I also felt envious of his extremely unshakable belief. How did he know there is a Heaven? How was he so sure that we are loved by a God?? And, what about Jesus? What made him so sure that Jesus was the son of God, and not just another very impressive and inspiring man? I wanted to believe as firmly as he did. I constantly tried to pick his brain, to see if he would falter in his beliefs. He never did.

I would sit at his feet in their house in Pennsylvania, the mountains looming nearby in their living room deck windows, on the soft carpet as he rocked and talked to me about the bible. I'd listen closely as he went on and on about Job, a story he told so well and lit up when he thought of it (and now, I understand more about why). He would recount the stories he liked, laugh at verses that rang particularly true to him, and suddenly punctuate what he was saying with an inspirational quote summing it all up- sometimes his own. He would grow serious, warning of what temptations lay in the world I was trying to make my way in. He would get lost, staring over my head in thought, rambling on about our current political climate (often with opinions I disagreed with but bit my tongue about ;) ), the problems with youth these days, and how to apply the teachings of the bible to our everyday relationships and health practices. Then, he'd remember I was there and his eyes would twinkle with his unconditional love as he reassured me that I was going to do great things in my life. I never got The Answers I was seeking in his certainty, but I was always comforted.

Grandpa was diagnosed about 2 years ago with Alzheimer's, a disease I am more and more desperate there'd be a cure for. It all started, really, when we noticed he could not remember who my boyfriend at the time was, though they'd been introduced a few times. Now, he doesn't recognize me and we have to meet again and again each time I visit with him. He has continued going to church and continued to be a loving, wonderful grandfather and man in life, but his memory has deteriorated significantly. Alzheimer's is so complicated, with one minute seeing the person you've known your whole life light up, and the next having to meet a complete stranger. To talk too much about what that's been like would be a bit too painful right now, and wouldn't be how he'd like to be talked about anyway.

One thing that fascinates me, is that his loving heart and faith have not faltered in his condition. He doesn't know me as well by name; he doesn't have the same vivid memories I do (right now!) of our time together, but I always sense that he knows me somehow. His hugs are still as tight and long, he still calls me "sweetie" and says he loves me, and I believe him. And when we ask him how he's doing, he always still says "Life is good. I've been blessed."

And because I know that, it truly is well with my soul.

Friendship.

I try not to ever complain in public posts, because I feel as though it diminishes the difficulties so many people are going through, and I just never want to sound like that person who isn't grateful for my awesome life. I'm not that person - I like my life a lot. That being said, we all have tough weeks and last week was very tough for me.

It was one of those slippery-slope weeks where I just had this sinking feeling every day, even though I attempted a bright attitude and worked hard, that each day was going to be a challenge. So many things fell apart, mistakes were made, arguments were had, and overall I ended Friday pretty deflated and miserable. I needed uplifting, big time. That, coupled with severe homesickness for my family and a lot of other family-heaviness I discussed lightly in my last post, made it difficult for me to maintain any semblance of my cheery self. Last night, I was all but fetal by the time 1am came around, and quite frustrated with God, the world in general, and myself.

So today when I finally let myself get up (late), I anticipated a day of being a loner in order to get my head back on straight without biting any innocent bystanders' off. I felt content punishing myself with hours of practice and organizing and budgeting, and hoped I could just be left alone to my own devices to "solve all my problems," like I constantly, stubbornly, attempt to do.

I was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling and plotting out my plan of "attack" when I got a buzz from my cell on my nightstand. It was from Amanda... who lives under my same roof. "Want to get brunch with me? I know I am just a room away right now, so it's probably weird I'm texting you, haha." (Not her exact words, but you get the picture). My initial impulse was to say "No, I really cannot afford it. I need to save my cash." But, my own thoughts intercepted this before I sent it via text saying, "maybe getting out of your own way needs to be the mission today." Amanda is like a sister to me; after years of friendship and living together, we are able to handle one anothers' highs and lows, moods and crankiness, and even momentary pauperism. So, instead, I said "Yes absolutely, give me 30 minutes!"

I'm so grateful I did. Brunch wound up being the most therapeutic 2 hours of my week, filled with reminders of who I am - who we are as friends - who she is as such a wonderful person in my life - and what being in New York City is even about. We laughed at the rough moments from the week. We laughed at the probable future rough times to come. We outlined better days for our individual selves. Two passion fruit mimosas later, we were heading into the city to do some shopping, wound up buying new things for our apartment, came home to leftover Indian food, a Netflix queue and completely lifted spirits.

From beginning to end today, I was never allowed a moment to feel down about the events of the week, or stressed for the week to come. Sure, I never made it to the church I planned to try tonight, and I owe Grandma Bee a phone call tomorrow, but I feel like myself again before another unpredictable week.

At least I know at the end of the days this week, I've got an apartment filled with new rugs, shower curtains and pictures, and above all a really amazing friend to laugh at it all with.

A Memory

So, without going too deeply down the road of emotions (if that's possible), today is the 6 month marker of the day my cousin Lynn passed away. For some reason, no matter how hard I have tried to sort of...be careful with how much I allow myself to think of that and miss him, it continues to be a present thought. Partially because I adore and admire his siblings, my cousins, very much. :) Partially because I adored and admired him so much growing up, and used his influence in a lot of what I decided to do with my life (and continue to, of course).

I try not to think of and describe him as something "tragic", though it's always hard not to focus on the pain of loss too young. When I think of how Lynn used to explain away loss, death, and fear to me -- I remember it being with a certain kind of simplicity that infuriated me, because I liked to complicate everything growing up. For Lynn it was very simple: God had a plan. He was going to follow that plan. Therefore, life was sweet and there was nothing to fear.

We used to fight all the time growing up. Correction: I used to get angry at Lynn and my sister Kate, while HE would stand by and "chortle" (his word!) at my frustration. Kate, my sister, would join him in pointing and laughing while I stomped my feet and huffed and puffed, and eventually I would be forced to stop my pouting because they would win me back over or my Aunt Cyndi would insist I stop the fuss.

I always wanted to be included in everything Lynn and Kate would do when our families would visit. I was the dreaded MIDDLE CHILD of the family. The tree went (in oldest to youngest): Benjamin, Lynn, Katie, ME, Kaia, Allison, and then Tom. Tom, Kaia and Allison would have their playtime, Ben, Lynn and Katie would have theirs. So I was smack dab in the middle wanting to be like the cool older cousins and generally failing and making a spectacle of myself. Lynn was hilarious, always coming up with alter-egos like "Mortimer Snerd", a nerdy personality he'd put on that made me laugh for hours and demand for more. He'd crack himself up with foreign languages. He and Katie once gave Mom a heart attack while she was driving by screaming for her to "LOOK OUT!!!" in the middle of the road. I can still hear their laughter like it was yesterday.

One of my favorite memories, that I keep thinking back on today to laugh, was when we were all in Delaware visiting our Erskine family and we'd been on the beach a lot. I had sunburned my nose, which looked hilarious to Lynn and the entire week he kept tweaking it and yelling "JuJu's NOSE!" which, because I was a sensitive 14 year old, made me angry and annoyed every time. We went to the outlet mall one day when it was rainy out, and while our parents went to shop on their own, Lynn insisted that we go to "Socks Galore", thoroughly delighted by the title and the theme.

"We can't go to the outlet mall without going to SOCKS GALORE!!" he shouted and then charged to the store ahead of us (or, probably, silly walked since we had watched about 8 hrs worth of Monty Python that week). I ran behind and grumpily tagged along throughout the store, bored by all the socks. Lynn was excited about the argyle socks and was piling his arms up with them when he noticed I was pouting (still). "Jujuuuuu!" he yelled and then tweaked my nose particularly hard, causing it to bleed. (I won't get too graphic, I promise).

In my memory, Lynn threw his socks in the air and shouted "OH NOOO!!! NOT YOUR NOSE!! I MADE YOUR NOSE BLEED IN SOCKS GALOOORE!!!" And then insisted I buy new SOCKS, IMMEDIATELY!!

I just remember him telling my Mom, in this high incredulous voice, "Aunt STARR!! I made Juju's nose bleed in SOCKS GALORE!! It's all my fault!!" And she, always on his side, started to laugh. Eventually, so did I. The truth is, I don't honestly think I was ever for a minute actually mad at Lynn growing up, but I always wanted more time with him.

My hope, as I consider all of these memories and laugh, (and cry, and pout), and miss him so much... is that he knew in our last messages to each other long distance how much all of our memories always meant to me. I'm sure he did, and of course I always hope that my cousins know that I can recount all the same kinds of memories for each of them, with deep descriptions of why I wanted to spend time with all of them too growing up. I was "middle child", worried about being left out, and very sensitive. I loved my time with all of them, and always (still) want more.

Here's to the memories we want more of, and the memories we will make in the future, still loving and including Lynn no matter how much time passes by.

Lynn, always mischievous, either peace-signing or giving me bunny ears when we were kids. (Probably the latter.)

First Day (Paris).

Me, (or the back of me), admiring the view of Paris from the Louvre during the summer in 2008.

I've had some major writer's block for the last month or so. Or, well, judging by the number of diverse drafted posts in my Dashboard, it's been more like writer's "commitment-phobia."

I've been wanting to write a series of "First Day" experiences in this blog for awhile. I've had so many monumental shifts in my life, from college to graduate school, from there to New York City, first performances and jobs, and so on, that I think it's fun to look back and reflect on the first days of those experiences. I thought there was no better example to begin with... than the first day of my summer in Paris in 2008:

When I decided to go to Paris, it was very much on behalf of my ingenious - and extremely generous - friend Sera, who had courageously decided to move there after we graduated from our undergrad together in 2007. I had been at Eastman for a year when I got on the plane to Paris, and I'd been as frustrated as I was exhilarated by the experience of graduate school. I had pretty much broken down my technique to the basics with my voice teacher that year. I'd come to Eastman with mostly choral experience, containing my voice to a small, tense instrument -- although my voice was naturally about double that size. I was a bundle of tension, insecurity, and weird habits. I spent the year doing mostly dance in the mainstage opera, a few scenes, and a lot of coaching and lessons. I had made progress, but I wasn't feeling like I had a lot to show for it yet. On top of that, I had just gotten my last rejection to a summer program and had no plans at all. I called Sera and told her my worries about the upcoming months, to which she said "What if you just come to Paris this summer? Sing in the Euroculture festival with me in August?" I knew instantly I was going to take her up on it. (I still owe her my first born for this.)

To make a very long story short, I set up plans to nanny for Naomi, the little girl Sera had nannied throughout the year, while Sera would work for an office in another part of Paris. I planned to crash on Sera's Chambre-de-bonne floor (if you do not know what this is, imagine a tuna can. Good, now take away about half that size.), pitch in on groceries and whatever other expenses were necessary, and live like a Parisian until we entered the festival in Auvergne (...yet another story for another time). I had no idea what I was in for. It was, and remains, the greatest summer of my entire life.

My first full day in Paris started when I woke up jet-lagged at 2pm to Sera's empty room. She had left to go to work hours before, but being the doll she is she left me a list of things I could do, where to go, and how to prepare my own crepes and coffee in the apartment. She'd given me a book with maps of each arrondisement, and I mapped my route to the first thing I knew I wanted to see: the Eiffel Tower. To my surprise, it was an easy walk there, especially considering I could already see it from her top-floor window.

I knew as soon as my feet hit the pavement that I was going to love living in that city for the summer. There is an indescribable energy to Paris. Some days New York City reminds me of it, especially when it rains, but nothing can really compare. It was as lively as it was peaceful, crowded with families speaking French and strangers eyeing me in the street. The culture shock I'd felt upon arriving dissolved completely when I stood beneath the tower itself, awed by how much larger it was in person than I'd anticipated. I found a bench underneath, and just sat and stared, waiting for the reality to sink in. It was never totally fathomable: "I am here. I am in Paris. I, who just two months ago didn't expect to ever be here and never really considered it someplace I'd travel to, am underneath the Eiffel Tower and surrounded by a country I do not know at all."

But, somehow, I felt at home. It was the first time in my life I've ever felt home someplace where, by all rationality, I did not fully belong. No one from my immediate family had ever been there, (yet), and it was an experience I was going to endure pretty much alone, which did not scare me nearly as much as I'd expected it to.

I've had a tradition of keeping diaries and writing every experience, good or bad, down in those books. Even the ones that are filled to the brim with hard times or heartbreak will be kept, because a part of me knows that while my young and inexperienced soul thinks those journals are unbearable, when I am older and wiser (hopefully), I'll read them over with a smile remembering how much strength the hard times brought me.

My first day in Paris was no exception to the rule, and I recorded my very rambling, tired thoughts down as I sat there:

May 21st, 2008:

Well, here I am. In Paris. Right now I am in front of the Eiffel Tower. 

...

Whoa.

I know I am lucky. Yes, I am nervous and perhaps a bit lost... but I'd rather be nervous and lost in Paris than in Rochester, NY. (As I so often already am). 

I find France strange, foreign, exquisite, enchanting...I want to fit in more than I can begin to express. I have learned some beginner phrases, and I am determined not to let France be something frightening at all. 

I feel a little as though I tricked the universe into letting me come here. :)

It was a whim, afterall, and glamorous, extravagant things do not happen to me usually. Homesick and French-illiterate as I am, I know I must stay and make the most of all of this. I only pray I don't mess it all up in my typically clumsy ways. I will stand for no less than the best experience I can make of this. I will just walk, watch, and learn every day. I am lucky; and small and humble... but I do believe I am deserving of this inevitably life-changing time. Better to find myself in a country like this, where I cannot distract myself with all of the opinions I worry about on a day-to-day basis. 

...I keep looking up at this tower to be sure it's still there each time. I'm already fighting the desire to move here and never return to NY... while also fighting nerves over how I will manage three whole months here with such ignorance to the culture and language. (sigh). 

I am actually somewhat envious of everyone around me here. Obviously, the fact that they can speak to one another and understand each other is one reason, but it's something else: They believe in love, and LIFE, above all else it seems. They don't concern themselves as much with the definitions of their success in their careers as Americans do. (The Americans I know, anyway). Everyone seems to embrace art, music, family... American artists could learn so much from Parisians. I already have, just in these hours on my very first day here. 

It isn't a fantasy after all; a world where art and true love are married is a very real thing. A practical thing, in fact, and above all - it is necessary. I hope to love my time here. No matter where I travel to this summer and what I see, I hope to find love in my own, simple, life. How impractical. :)

Resolution.

Ringing in 2013 with all of my bests.

 Happy New Year!

I will admit, I'm a little superstitious when it comes to the start of a new year. I do actually take it seriously, even if I keep some of that cheesiness to myself. I make the resolutions, (and sometimes even keep them), and I pay attention to the spirit in which I'm entering the year. Truthfully, New Year's Eve is my least favorite holiday of the year; for some reason no matter how great my plans are I drag my feet. This year was no exception; after a somewhat emotional, though beautiful, Thanksgiving and Christmas, I resolved to make plans at a local favorite bar near my apartment with a few of my closest friends and left it - gladly - at that.

Maybe I take this time of year to heart because my birthday is also in the first couple weeks. It's not just the start of a new year for everyone, it's the start of a new year and a new age for myself. I feel the urge to improve, grow, and reflect. I feel restless energy combined with a calm that I've "made it" to a new point in my life, even if I try not to put too much pressure on my age. I've never had an issue with getting older; I have always felt a little bit older than my age (but this doesn't mean I'm not absolutely ridiculous and inappropriate most days), and as much as I hate the anticipation of change I have also always embraced it once it has arrived.

Even if I ring in the new year in my sweatpants with a pint of ice cream in my lap (done that too! Oh hello again, 2009...), it is a momentous, slate-clearing time I always look forward to.

I spent the last few weeks of 2012 looking wearily at the little box on my facebook profile urging me to check out my "2012 in Review." I know you're well-meaning, Facebook (well that just made me laugh, actually), but 2012 was not a year I feel like looking back on. It was important, life-changing, and I suppose if I went back and knew how things would turn out I still would've walked forward exactly the same way. Still, it was tough, and looking back on the last few years and how much I have changed forces me to consider the old resolutions I made.

2012's Resolutions went like this:

• Reach athletic goals (Run 5K, start bike training, etc.)
• Spend more time with loved ones
• Audition for 10 new programs
• Get lessons every other week and work on new rep
• Pay off loans
• Learn to cook (Better)
• Learn to knit
• Travel
• Grow in all aspects of work
• Get more sleep 
• Be BETTER at EVERYTHING! (in a nutshell).

... You get the picture. I made a good effort, but alas - I did not keep all of those resolutions. This year, I actually thought about what I want to resolve to do, and the list looks like this:

• Enjoy my life.

Honestly, when all is said and done each year, the one thing I want most is to feel like even if I've crashed and burned at everything I've attempted - I have done it all fully and with commitment. I'm already a motivated individual who wants to make a difference in the world somehow while I'm here for this blip of time. But, not to be too corny here (failed already I'm sure), I'll only be this age, today. It won't come around again. I already look back and realize I've spent so much of the last year working hard and trying to reach milestones I have no control over coming to fruition... so while I'm still on the hamster wheel finding a way to a bigger or faster one, I need to learn how to enjoy spinning on it for awhile.

At the end of this year, no matter how tired I was or drained, I was proud of myself for getting here. I felt stronger somehow, and I knew I didn't have any more questions; most had all been answered in the best or worst ways. I felt freed.

So here I am in my apartment, newly stocked with a few gifts and some plans to go to Europe this summer in the works (more on that later), and a feeling of love and joy I feel confident enough to let in this time. Even if tomorrow's a tough day, or I fail on a different goal, this is what I want my focus to be.