So we’ve reached the end of the week, the month, the year. It’s time to wrap up 2012 with a big bow and stick it in the memorabilia cabinet. We’ll bring it out once in awhile, mainly to laugh at the fashions and music (if I hear my sons do a variation of Gangnam Style one more time I may stab my eardrums with cocktail forks), but for the most part it should stay unbothered. And that’s a good thing. On a scale of “not too bad” to “let us never speak of these twelve months again,” 2012 fell somewhere around “we made it, so let’s just move on, shall we?”
That is what is so fantastic about January 1. There is a delicious joy in a clean, untouched slate. It’s like a freshly fallen snow, smooth and pristine (yes, cliche, I know). You look across it and it’s perfect and unblemished as far as the eye can see. There are no marks upon it, and the possibilities are endless. Anything can happen, and that’s exciting and a little frightening. The possibilities and untouched perfection bring me great joy. It’s a year that I haven’t screwed up, a year that hasn’t stuck its wet finger in my ear. The last several years have made me a bit skittish, sorry.
I’m feeling optimistic and yes, joyful, about the new year, for the first time in a long time; I hope that doesn’t come back to haunt me. I have great plans for 2013. Right now I’m peering out the metaphorical window at the New Year, crossing my fingers that the great turning of the calendar page will bring a fresh…everything. In a few days I will throw open the door to the New Year, stare across the 52 weeks of unblemished perfection, and welcome in the New Year.