I can't believe it's already a new year, but I think I welcome it. 2016 was a strange year, all the way to the very end. I suppose strange doesn't necessarily mean bad, but this past year was a bizarre mix of events, both on a personal level and in a much broader sense.
Like clockwork, once New Year's Eve comes around, I always get asked whether I set New Year's resolutions for myself. Although I initially say "No, I don't really 'do' resolutions," I'm always left wondering if I should be making resolutions. I think what I arrive at are not strictly resolutions, but hopes.
I hope that in this New Year, I will write more. With that, I'd also like to read more. A few years ago, due to opposite schedules, I would often find myself at home alone in the evenings. This was a glorious time for me in terms of reading: I'd average a book or two every couple of weeks, and I eventually made one of my best friends simply by walking upstairs to her apartment and reading together for hours in what we called her "library." The clock would strike 10 p.m., the "library" would close, and I was back in my own apartment, most likely reading a little bit more before it was my own bedtime. I miss you, AF - I know you'd like to see me read more too!
I would also like to spend more time being present. One time last month, I hopped on the train right at the beautiful sunset hour: The sky was painted with striking hues of bright orange, purple and pink. I stared out the train windows until all the colors dissolved into the night, and felt so thankful to have seen the sunset that evening. It made me think more about not letting every day pass me by. I want to see and appreciate more of the little things that make life worth living.
2017: I think — I hope — I'm ready for you.