After running some 5K races in 2022, I ran a 10K in January, and although it’s always nearly impossible to imagine only being halfway done when you finish a race like that, the thought did occur to me that I could probably train up to do a half marathon.

One thing I do have my sights set on is running, as one of my 2022 goals had been to run a race. I ended up running 3 of them in 2022, all 5Ks, and when I’d set out as a new runner early in the pandemic, being able to run a 5K was really my only eventual goal. Having met it, and really having enjoyed the process, I found myself gradually increasing the distance of my runs. To the point that I knew I wanted to tackle a 10K in 2023.

As a writer, and, more specifically, as a writer who writes pretty much exclusively about stories from my life, I’ve long been a fan of The Moth. There are few things I enjoy more than hearing real people tell real stories from their real lives. It’s so much more satisfying than fiction could ever be. It’s why I love reading memoirs, and it’s why I’ve read all The Moth’s story collection books and listen religiously to their weekly podcast. I, quite simply, love stories.

Every New Year’s Eve I write a letter to myself. I type it, actually, on the vintage typewriter I bought with my tax return while living in New York City. I do this partly because the typewriter was expensive and I’m still trying to get my money’s worth.

What is a year, really? There’s that iconic Rent song, of course, that boils it all down to love—probably a more accurate measure than we realize. But if you really take a look at a year, what is it?

I would give a writing update, only I don't have one. Like, none at all. Because I haven't been writing. It's shameful. Not to say there's nothing in the works, because I did recently get asked to contribute to a book of essays being published and had a fun (read: rather torturously self-reflective) time writing that one, and I may be part of a group of single women writers launching a blog forum in the near future, so, there are writerly things happening. But as for progress toward my next book, who has the time? The answer is, not me.

This was my view as I mulled over the new year and the areas on which I wanted to focus, to improve, to accomplish, or to at least spend more time on in 2016.

It is a bit sad that as we grow older, there seem to be fewer dreams to chase. Maybe not so much because we in actuality have fewer dreams, but because it just gets so easy to justify not chasing them. It's too hard. It's too late. Our lives are already too set. People depend on us. Our lifestyles might suffer. We fear failure. Our lives took other paths. Other things are more important.

If you must know, this wasn't actually taken at midnight. I cheated. I was there though, and I have some surpsingly close pictures of Ryan Seacrest to prove it. For the record, I am thoroughly embarrassed to have taken any pictures of him at all. Honestly, how does a person get such billing power with so little to show for it in the way of talent?

Here is my weekend goal: to enter all the edits I've been scribbling on the manuscript into the computer and print out a new, clean draft.

I went to time management workshop a few years ago as part of a weekend conference, and I remember it changing my life.