My family celebrated with a midnight turkey dinner. We actually dined at 8pm, but it felt like midnight. We took turns telling our favorite moment. Then my sister made Italian creme sodas.
At the real midnight, we clapped and yelled.
The other thing I can't resist is the reviewing. I've tried to resist. I tell myself I can begin a goal whenever I want to—and I do. I tell myself I can remember my life whenever I want to—and I do. But I can't resist the clean clean white shimmering slate of January first.
Last year began here with wondering about how the heinousness and gorgeousness would weigh out in the end.
And, now I know.
At least for a brief, spluttering day spent exploring a coastal peninsula, staring at the ocean for signs of whales.
The last year shared some heinousness—as usual. I apologize to the quiet neighborhood in Utah county that witnessed my yelling about stepping in dog diarrhea. I apologize to the gas station clerk who let me ugly cry while paying for my gas in cash. I apologize, among other things, for planning on writing a post about how you're allowed to have a merry Christmas even if you're epically lonely, recently divorced, unemployed, in love with someone who doesn't love you, in love with someone knowing it won't ever work, not pregnant, not going to get pregnant, worried about everyone you love, not engaged, not going to get engaged, not married, feeling like a failure, recovering from a recent miscarriage, annoyed with everyone anywhere, cranky, jealous (the painful kind that feels like you've been split in half like a lima bean), wondering if your child will ever have a friend, wondering if after all this time [insert your question of existence] because, even though that's what Christmas is all about (hope! peace! forgiveness! Christ!), that kind of post might have still been too depressing.
And, people. The gorgeousness of 2012!
I cannot resist it.
January equaled a road trip (with my best friend) from a beach in Santa Barbara to our houses in Salt Lake City & printing my guts out in real life LOVE LETTERS.
February equaled posting real life LOVE LETTERS all over the country.
The exact middle of March equaled the following text message on a random afternoon while working madly on my thesis: Emily, it's [...], we went out on Halloween, do you remember me?
The exact middle of April equaled me reading my thesis to a roomful of people. That makes it sound real boring, sorry—it was awesome.
All of May featured me in a white attic apartment in heaven. Real heaven. With peonies. With avocados & burritos. With some really great stories.
June equaled more white attic heaven.
The end of July equaled running and bike riding and laughing even when I wanted to real-life-die of sadness. That was a triumph. I will celebrate it forever.
August = swimming the buoy almost every day for a week and dreams about whales.
September = falling in love with teaching all over again.
October = Fall in the Avenues in Salt Lake City. Walks in the cemetery. Ten thousand people watching a video of me explaining my project about acceptable reasons to cry in public.
November = My 31st birthday (!!!!!!).
December = Standing in front of the Salt Lake City temple nativity in the pouring rain; my friend Kaylynn helping me carry my mattress down a flight of stairs and throwing it, together, into the back of a truck; watching my parents be in love in many small, real ways.
Also, for this year, I will say that I saw two whales today. One: two spouts, and then it's tail out of the water. It was far away but when the fins hit the sun at just the right angle, they were a mirror in the middle of the ocean. The second sighting: two spouts, and then a thin dark line. (It was just it's back).
And now for 2013. We will see what kind of luckiness it brings.