I am neither a disaster nor an inspiration. No resolution fits, really. I could lie and say I’m ready to let go of the 45 extra pounds padding my frame, but winter’s cold and I don’t feel equip to be beautiful, not yet. I could promise to serve the hungry after I clock out from the office, but I barely have the energy for mircowave popcorn some evenings. I could make it to the eighth or ninth, whittling down my debt by following some book discouraging my morning Americano, but really, why?
In 2011, a painful breakup and subsequent blog project led me into “The Perfectly Imperfect Year”. As I grew more comfortable with failure, a funny thing happened, success became easier. I found a job I cared about, one that offers a 403(b) and encourages pantyhose and natural hair colors. I began to limit my circle of friends and seek relationships within my faith and social service communities. I demanded more for myself as I tried, and tried again. In 2012, there’s not much left to resolve, except for honesty and consistency. Anais Nin wrote in her diary “One handles truths like dynamite. Literature is one vast hypocrisy, a giant deception, treachery. All writers have concealed more than they revealed.”
Ignoring my training, for purposes of this blog, I am not a writer. I am Female, 25. This may be raw, naked, awkward. Thankfully, this blog is pretty low on Google search results for “naked 20something women”. A self-indulgent chronicle of 2012, free therapy, a respite from facebook, this blog serves as a project ,in earnest,that 2012 is not the end of the world, but the beginning.
To the New Year and the Nude me,
Truths Like Dynamite.