When I was a teenager, one of my closest friends had a belief (passed down from her mother) that "Whatever you are doing on New Year's Eve, is what you will be doing for the rest of the year." -For me, these words were like a curse. They would propel me into a frenzy of activity and worries, trying to make those few precious hours really count, and somehow be "the best hours of my life" up until that point. Consequently, many NYE's were filled with so much pressure, that it detracted from the fun that I could have been having, had I not felt *obligated* to be having such a good time. Just to be clear, my NYE's weren't that radically different from anyone else's. I would get dressed up, go out, have fun with my friends. We would find fun things to do, sometimes going to parties, sometimes going to big public gatherings of people, or dancing. It was fun. But I still felt the pressure of the curse. I would compare my relatively ordinary life to those of characters in the movies and feel let down. How come, at the stroke of midnight, I wasn't passionately being kissed by the dashing man of my dreams? Where was my Harry (like from "When Harry Met Sally") making his way to wherever I was, crossing the room, just to profess in the most touching way possible his deepest and most ardent affection for me? Compared to that, my life was a let down. I was a 13 year old girl with a lions mane of crimped hair, and slouch socks, eating pizza and staying up late with my girlfriends. When I got older, not much changed, except for the hair and slouch socks. Oh sure the parties changed. Things got a little more grown up. But those cycling feelings of pressure and disappointment followed me into adulthood.
Sometime around my early twenties is when things finally began to change a little bit. I think it was actually my first laid back NYE since the casting of the curse. I was visiting some friends for Christmas in the Seattle area, and stayed for New Year's. Some time during the visit, a group of us had gone down to the Franklin Covey store to pick up new planners and paper refills for them. I chose the "Seven Habits" planner, modeled after the book. It actually felt luxurious getting that planner. The cover was a nice textured brown leather, something that would wear nicely over time. Somewhere in the paperwork for setting up your planner, was the idea of a mission statement. A personal mission statement to kind of focus and guide your life. Eva and I took our planners down to a local coffee house and sat there, listening to warm, coffeehouse jazz and merrily philosophizing about what we wanted our lives to be like. Who we wanted to be. What we wanted to contribute to the world and how we wanted to connect with others. Then, once our mission statements were done, and our Covey planners were all set up for the upcoming year, we would write out our Buddhist determinations for the upcoming year. -Goals that we were willing to commit to for the next year. For many years after, even when Eva and I were in different states, we would do this tradition. This year, I haven't gotten on it *yet*. But I will.
This year, I was horribly sick on NYE. And not only was *I* sick...but my fabulous boyfriend had it too! Together, we were a coughing, hacking, fever-ridden, wheezing mess. Snot oozed out of us. Whole boxes of tissues were used up and discarded. I barely ate for a week. We stayed in this year and cuddled and watched movies. The little girl in me, who is still somewhat daunted by the words of my childhood friend, thought "Oh great...so what does this mean? I suppose I'm going to be sick a lot this year. And spend a lot of time at home doing nothing, while every one else is out having fun." But then the adult woman in me told that little girl to calm down because I was actually happy. Even being home sick, I was having a good time with The Cute Boy. It felt like we were doing something delicious, even though we were only hanging out, talking, and laughing, and cuddling. It felt good to just be myself, even a really sick and slightly gross version of myself with bedhead because even in that state, I was having a blast with an awesome guy who loved me and was tender with me. He does things. Little things that my family used to do for me. Like rubbing my back and cooing "sana, sana, sana culita rana" to me. And he got me a washcloth and rinsed it under cold water, rung it out, and brought it to me when my fever was so bad that even my eyeballs felt hot. It may not sound like much, but believe me, it is. And we both feel it -the gratitude of finding and loving someone, who loves us in return, and takes good care of us. We learn and we grow. And I'm trying to outgrow my childhood insecurities and enjoy my life more. It's a process, but it's coming along. More and more, I'm realizing that being successful in life isn't about being perfect. It's about being myself and loving myself with all of my imperfections. It's also about enjoying life, even through the challenges.
and afterwards, we stopped by the nursing home that Millie is in. We brought Mr. Piccolo in to meet her, and immediately, all of the old people in the living room perked up when they saw "the puppy". There were so many smiling and eager faces. Even the woman who runs the place, came out to see him. We went to Millie's room to visit. And she sat down on the bed and cradled Mr. Piccolo. He didn't squirm or try to get away. In fact, he just relaxed and settled in. He was tuckered out from all of his running and playing at the dog park. And there's something about the energy of old people. It's sweet and safe. Calm and comforting. Ceci knew that Millie's arms were a safe place to be in and rest, so he closed his eyes and took a nap. 
