This year, I’ll be plummeting. I fell face first on the pavement in OTR, just off 12th and Walnut. I fell and didn’t even try to catch myself. I hopped back up and said, “pizza!”, because that’s where we were headed and I was a drunk idiot. I fell on November 3rd. I have not stopped falling. Different directions, all over the place, but with a parachute and a good pair of boots, I’ll be plummeting. It’s a new year, clementine. We don’t have to forget the old. We get to carry it with us, the good parts or just the sticky ones, and see where they fall off or maintain. The great thing about time, about forward motion, about traveling, is that you can always take shit out of your backpack. You can always shed. If there was a thing 2016 taught me, or tried to, is deciding what to carry on. To carry with. To carry close to your body and let it keep you warm. In 2017, we could be so warm.
The plummet has some practical aspects. Of the “if not now, when” ilk. There are things I’m leaning into I could name. My aunt Renee asked me to do a half marathon with her. I said, “what else do I have to do?” (and now it’s on the internet so I gotta). I promised Kaila I’d go to Austin. I promised Erika I’d make it to Colorado. The plummet involves not shying away from promises for the sake of selfishness. I could have six almond milk lattes and sexy blue hair or I could hop a cheap plane to see my best friend. That’s an aspect.
The plummet has some more woo-woo, earthy, touchy aspects. More poetry, more performance, more vulnerability and work. Simultaneously. But that’s still practical. Let me say the thing I want to say. To paraphrase Mary Oliver, I’m going to let the soft animal of my body loves what it loves. I’m not going to shy away from warmth because of some long past burn. I’ve a parachute. I know who I am. Whatever that means, and however that continues to change. I’ve got a good pair of boots. They need to be resoled but they’re sturdy and get us there.
Let’s get back to the mucky bits. Let’s soften and hold as much as we can in our arms. I’m so excited for this year. I’m so excited for you. I want to hear all about your plans. I want to roll around in whatever mess the next 364 days have at the ready.
I’m going to plummet. I’ll be 25 in March and no less of an idiot, but hopefully on the way to some modicum of learning. My forehead healed quite nicely. Maybe it’s an omen. Maybe I’m just Wolverine. Either way, here’s to another free fall.
I love you. I miss you. I hope to see you soon.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go eat some sauerkraut. I’ve been told it’s good luck.