With the last few days of the year coming to a close I'll let you in on a secret -- I loathe December 31st, I refuse to celebrate, I can't remember a New Years where I haven't cried or wanted to be in bed before the clock even hits midnight. The emotion and the expectation, it's all too much for me. Last year I was still very much broken hearted, flatly refusing to celebrate a year that had treated me so cruelly and had ruined so many pillow cases with thick mascara stained tears. Hungry for change I started 2012 with a new -- albeit forced -- sense of (mis)adventure, a need and a fierce desire for something wonderful to finally happen.
This year was the year I had set out to say "yes". Yes to walking over hot coals - I had tripped spectacularly halfway across and scalded my poor feet. Yes to new travel with old friends - travel that didn't involve the main suite in a 5* Milan hotel for once, yes to the red carpet of a film premiere in a pair of jeans, yes to expensive weekly physio with a man in lycra who sat in silence rubbing my arthritic feet whilst maintaining perfect, jaw clenching, painful to sit through eye contact and yes to an entirely inappropriate inter agency romance. I realised three or four dates in that I wasn't wholly interested but couldn't end things without office tension - two and a half months later I found myself red faced and fuming ever so slightly while my manager slid a post it note break up across the desk and into my hands on his behalf. How very sex and the city. Grateful, I had caught a train home that very night to avoid any talk of feelings and swore never to get involved again. I went on a date with a blogger - I was blogged about! On our second date we sat in awkward five minute long silences and he shook my hand goodbye, as I deleted his number before jumping on my tube I was surprised at how excited I felt at the prospect of other dates, awful second dates included.
This was the year I ran away-- from romance, from diving head first out of my complete comfort zone, from looking for more, asking for more out of my career. Faced with drinks with a handsome young man I ran for the hills, at the first stressor in the office I ran from my troubled little existence in town, bolted for the countryside, feet tripping over themselves to be back in the safe family pile. I joined a dating site then panicked at every single message refusing to send a single reply - more on that later though - I've worried and paced round the flat enough times to leave a faint threadbare path, it's been absolutely exhausting.
So what about next year?
I could come up with a list the length of my arms of promises I know I'll never keep, I think I might finally give up organised religion but aside from that I think an open mind and a firm belief in myself is all I'll require. Ok, and I want to start saving money, go on more dates, get a boyfriend, get fit, find a job where I am appreciated and challenged and happy, god I want to be happy, I'm going to take the stairs and drink less fizz and give up cola for good. I want to be more content, appreciate my little flat with the crazy neighbours, I want to nest and make home, make love, sometimes even with the lights on. I'm going to stop fighting this "girl" malarky and wear proper makeup even if its not a special occasion, make an effort, make myself feel good, I'm going to continue to love my family fiercely and let them know just how much. I'm going to be a little less Bridget Jones and a little more Bridget Bardot, although, a lot can be said for big knickers and what will I ever write if my love life does ever start existing I wonder.
Mother is sending me home with a bottle of champagne and strict instructions to open it, here's to making enough reasons to do just that.