I’m not much of one for celebrating the New Year. It’s not that it’s not exciting to “start fresh” or to stay up late and drink champagne; it’s just that I forget to plan for the occasion. I don’t make resolutions and I don’t remember to document my New Year’s Eve.
[Proof: The image to the right was the only photo I took during my night out on New Year’s Eve, and the only reason I have this one was because the man at the coat check told me to take it since it was more likely that I would lose my ticket than my phone. Incidentally, I didn’t lose my ticket.]
So, instead of posting photos of my amazing EVEning and making New Year’s resolutions this year, I’m taking some time to think back on the year that has passed. After all, 2013 was a big one – it was my first spent entirely in the so-called “real world” of office work and all that comes with it.
2013 was the year I turned 23.
It was the year of my 5th high school reunion (which I did not go to) and my 1st college reunion (which came to me).
During this year, my parents came to visit me. My cousin came to visit me. Sasha and Ellie and Dan all came to visit me.
I visited my parents. I visited my cousin. I visited Sasha and Ellie (but not Dan). I visited many other people besides.
I made it to Los Angeles and Minneapolis and Boston and Maine and New York.
I experienced my first family reunion with the entire family present when my grandmother turned 80.
I also experienced my second robbery when the seats were stolen out of the back of our rental car.
I had a best friend move to Scotland.
I saw a lot of incredible art.
I saw a lot of incredible music.
I tweeted once or twice, and one of the times I did I won 5 tickets to LouFest.
I planned a surprise birthday party for Joe and a surprise trip to Maine for my mom’s birthday.
I spotted an amazing chair on the side of the road and we somehow managed to cram it into Joe’s sedan so we could take it home with us.
I made my first post-college friends.
I came frighteningly close to agreeing to adopt a dog.
I joined a gym for the dance classes. I discovered that I am terrible at hip hop dancing. This was not a surprise. I also discovered that I love dancing to Michael Jackson. This was a surprise.
I got a Haircut. When I took a selfie to document this fact, my nose disappeared.
I embraced that “chi se ne frego” (who cares) attitude and knit by myself at a bar while reading a book about A/B testing. I also knit at bars even while not reading books about A/B testing.
I drank a lot of incredible beer. I made my own gin. I got better at mixing drinks.
All of my Pandora stations converged on M83’s “Midnight City”.
I became an enthusiastic party host, and pulled off an obsessively detailed murder mystery party.
I went to my first baseball game. I went to my first World Series game. These were not the same.
My German got worse, but my feminism got better.
I celebrated 2½ years in a serious relationship. I learned more about what love is and why there’s no such thing as happily ever after (and why that’s a good thing).
I was and I am happy.
2013 was the year I turned 23.
I have to say though, being 23 hasn’t been too bad.
*The title is taken from a line in Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five