New Year's

Years slip together seamlessly. In spite of all our grand ideas about what a new year is, or what it means, or what goals might be accomplished in it, the day before new year's day passes much the same as the the one after it. Jobs, homes, families -- nothing really changes. Life is still the same.

Yet somehow, the new year manages to have an air of freshness to it. Maybe it's just me, but writing a date starting with 1 and ending with a new number feels like standing at a beginning.

Perhaps it is merely because I know have 11 more months ahead of me, 11 more months to try and make this year great.

Perhaps the feeling comes from the tradition of resolutions seeping into my head.

Perhaps the new year is just a good excuse to try once more to change.

Whatever the reason, January has a fresh feel to it, an air of hope.

For January is a blank canvas, calling for paint. It is a lump of clay, ready to be molded. It is a blank page, begging to be filled with words.

Silly or not, the new year is a beginning. It is a new block of time just waiting to be lived in.

So my question for you is simple: What will you do with your year?