I’ve always been one to love fresh starts.
Flip the page on the calendar, heave boxes around an empty floor plan, break in new shoes on the first day if high school.
Therefore, though winter is my least favorite season, I really like the squeaky, minty clean of the first week of January.
I’m not a New Year’s Eve person—saying goodbye to the year has never been a reason to stay up late for this morning person. But the next dawn, when I can rise and quietly say to myself, “Time for a fresh start?” Yep, I’m totally down with that.
Buy a new calendar and look at all those days, all 365 of them just sitting there, waiting to be filled with something amazing. Just like how when stepping into the first hour of high school, there’s so much possibility—new friends, mind-numbing crushes, a point of interest that could turn into a college major and then a career—that the enticement of what could happen is overwhelmingly exquisite.
Now, I’m not so high on my love of possibility that I don’t know that some people may see January 1 as less of a chance for new possibility and more as another day in the slog toward the end. Or that they see it as a day of deprivation on the way to reinvention: the first day of a diet, the first day of financial belt-tightening, the first day of—oh, the horror—giving up caffeine.
It’s not that I don’t understand these things or that I want to forget the old and barrel into the new with little regard for my history. Rather, it’s the sheen of possibility that is so appealing.
So, though January 1 is sort of an arbitrary start date (it really is just another day, squatting in the middle of winter), it is still a reset button. One unlike any other during the year for an adult long out of school.
2013 was a mixed bag of possibilities, as most years usually are—filled with great highs (I signed an agent!) and major lows (Two days after my signing, my beloved grandmother died.).
Right now it’s still as fresh as new snow, just the way I like it.