I’ve begun thinking about you. I’m not sure I’m ready to meet you, but I’ve been told I don’t have a choice: you’re coming regardless.
I’m frightened, a bit. I won’t admit it to most; no, that’s not true. I’d probably admit it to most easily, because that’s what others expect to hear. I’m actually least likely to admit it to myself. I don’t want to think about that which I ought to be frightened about, so for the most part I don’t.
You hold a lot in you. A lot of new things. Actually the first real, completely new things, don’t you? Before this, life was prescribed. Childhood, kindergarden, gradeschool, highschool, college. College involved a choice, yes, but it was always going to be college. You, my sweet 2013, you’re new — or at least, the latter part of you is.
I always loved the number thirteen. No one could fully understand that besides my girlfriends from junior high. Incidentally, I didn’t really like the age thirteen. Gawky and awkward, too tall, acne, just coming out of homeschool. Dear 2013, please don’t resemble my 13th year. I’ll never forgive you if you do.
But where were we? New things. Oh, so many new things. Even the closest parts of you are new. My last semester of college, I imagine, will be little like the last seven. Preparing for what’s ahead will lend a new flavor to the rote studying, socializing, living recipe.
I will have plans for you, 2013. I don’t have them yet, but as I use this winter break to regain strength and push into you, I will make them, I will build from them, and hopefully I will structure them well enough to allow some success.
I’ll see you soon, new year. And hopefully I’ll do better on my plans for you than I did with my promise to 2012 to not break my phone.