For me, 2003 will open in a much different manner than 2002. The last time we watched the ball at Times Square discend, I rushed outside with my new girlfriend so we could kiss passionately in private, away from our friends who would just blow on their party kazoos and yell out "Happy New Year!" (I would personally rather whisper that phrase to a girl I care about than flail around foolishly as though I am incredibly delighted at the technical inauguration of a new year.)
This year, I don't know what I will do when the clock reads midnight, but I know I'll be here, at home. For the last week a nasty cough and headache has engulfed my body, and I am in no mood to get dressed, gather in public, and celebrate the new year. I may go downstairs and watch the ageless Dick Clark and his New Year's Rockin Eve with my parents, or I may just crawl into bed right now and awake next year.
These past 365 days have accounted for the best calendar year of my life. I grew in too many dimensions to recall: more polished emotionally, better educated, stronger spiritually, more comfort in my appearance, happier in my relations, the list goes on. I enter this new year no longer a teenager, having been twenty for over five months now. Hopefully I am
old seasoned enough to use the past year to further improve my life and the lives of others. "2003" seems very futuristic to me. It looks like a much bigger number than 2002. We really are living in a different time than the 1990s; the transition is over. Let's steer things in the right direction. What does that mean? Um, I don't know. Maybe that should be something to figure out in this next year.
Goodbye 2002. You were so good to me. Let's hope your neighbor is just as charitable.
