The past year has been so different than any I’ve lived thus far. I have left the nest, so-to-speak, which has been both intimidating and liberating. It’s been almost a year since I moved in with my boyfriend Anthony, and considering that I took a blind leap by doing so, I have come to be quite blessed. I came into his empty apartment and did my best to fill it with more than just concrete, tangible things. I did something not uncommon to reckless youth- I made a decision to act on nothing more than a feeling, one that had no assurance of leading to a functioning dynamic between two people. It was an arguably neurotic move, which has brought me great joy and contentment over the past twelve months. Sometimes a feeling is all you need. 

I am still the same in so many ways; insecure, paranoid at times, self-conscious, but who isn’t? The flaws of being a perfectionist have been balanced out by Anthony’s level head and ability to keep the big picture painted for me. Or perhaps it’s the small picture, for in fact the only thing that matters is what we decide to do with the present. 

I can see where I would like to be down the road, but the path can take unexpected turns which I cannot ever hope to predict. I would have never predicted this past year, after all. So I am going to aim, and besides that, take this less seriously. If there’s one thing I have learned, it is that I need to take time to breathe. I was promoted to a salary position this year, which has been a much needed boost to my income, yet also placed more stress upon my other life of being a full-time student. 

This past fall semester was one of the most difficult I’ve had, which I had to come to terms with when I landed in the hospital for an overnight of the most physical pain I have ever endured. The fact is, stress affects the body in ways we oftentimes are not even aware of. Developing such a large ovarian cyst that it burst and is now going to cost me five grand of hospital bills is a big enough hint for me to take it a little easier when it comes to how I handle both work and school. I have dropped a class and am now taking 12 hours instead of 15-18, and it doesn’t bother me one bit that I’ll be giving up the last year of my scholarship to do so. It’s just not worth it. I never slept more than 5 hours a night last semester, which obviously took its toll. 

Something one of my friends wrote in her end-of-the-year reflection is now going to be MY motto as well: It’s not a race. 

To have a degree someday is all I care about now, the time in which it takes me to receive it is not important to me anymore. Taking care of my body and enjoying my years as an almost-21-year-old is what is important. I want to have time to get lost in books, to go spend the night under the stars, to hang my legs over the edge of a bridge while I fish, to travel and see new parts of the country… that’s what I want to have time for. 

Besides, a career is only good as long as you are in your prime years, but the stories you can gather to tell in your retirement are what will come to matter. Not the hours spent at a job. 

I cannot predict where the next twelve months will take me. Maybe I’ll be right here next year, writing in the same spot. Hopefully I’ll be able to say I put into practice the act of taking my time, instead of practically killing myself to be the perfect employee, student, daughter, sister, girlfriend, etc. 

The thing that means the most to me has not changed, and that’s what I will continue to hold onto: above all, stories. Reading them in the pursuit of my degree has been the most rewarding to my heart. Whether or not I make a cent of profit from what I learn matters not. I simply want to learn as much as I can about literature. For me. That’s it. I also want to be able to not care what people think of that. I am getting an education to better myself, not to better my income. 

It’s been a hell of a year. Here’s to hopefully another.