This is OUR December

Season’s Greetings,

Every year around this time, I picture myself sitting down with Past Me—the girl watching the clock strike midnight on January 1st, cheeks sore from yelling, “Happy New Year!” and probably still holding a half-eaten party snack. In this little daydream, I tell her everything that happens in the year ahead, and without fail, I imagine her blinking at me like I’ve lost it. “What the heck?” she’d say. (Past Me’s vocabulary isn’t great under pressure.)

I gave up on New Year’s resolutions a long time ago. Not because I’m lazy (though maybe a little…), but because the real magic isn’t in orchestrating big changes. It’s in the sneaky, everyday stuff—the kind that happens while you’re just living, blissfully unaware you’re on the verge of tripping over greatness… or, you know, a curb. Even my most face-palm-worthy mistakes? All part of the plan. The plan I don’t know about but seem to nail every time, apparently.

And that’s my annual revelation: I’m on track. How about you?

Back in January, I celebrated my 24th birthday at AT’s surrounded by friends, boldly deciding to try 25 exciting new things before I turned 25. It was ambitious. It was inspiring. It lasted five days. By Day 6, I was exhausted and declared my resolution “spontaneously optional.” Turns out, my year still had plenty of adventure—just not in checklist form. And honestly? My favorite moments weren’t planned at all.

They came wrapped in questions like, “Want to hear a song I just wrote?” They came in songs I’d never heard before, spilled coffee, and unexpected boots that somehow fit perfectly. They came in words I didn’t mean but later grew into, in bars I swore I’d never set foot in, and in late nights that almost didn’t happen but somehow did.

Oddly, my absolute favorite moment of 2024 was ridiculous. Picture this: It’s my first long walk of the summer. I’m feeling alive, soaking up the sun, probably listening to something inspiring. Then bam—I trip over the curb. Face meets pavement. My earbuds yank out of my ears dramatically; my phone skids across the asphalt. Naturally, I check to see if anyone witnessed this cinematic flop. No one. It’s just me, my bruised ego, and an undeniable sense of, “Yep, that checks out. This is my life.”

And somehow, that moment stuck. Maybe it’s because it was life smacking me in the face—literally—to remind me to stop rushing and just be. Or maybe it’s because the story of me eating concrete is a crowd-pleaser. Either way, it probably doesn’t sound like it beats meeting Max from Wilderado or seeing Grown Ups play for the umpteenth time, but it is, for all intents and purposes of this post, my favorite moment of the year.

If you’re catching onto the vibe here, it’s this: Life is messy, embarrassing, and completely unscripted. That’s what makes it fun. (Well, after you’ve dusted yourself off, anyway.)

So yeah, I’m still on track—even when I’m sprawled on it. Ha.

Now, let’s talk about December. I was ready to roast this month harder than chestnuts on an open fire. My first draft of this email? Full-on Grinch mode: “The nights are too long, the lights are too sparkly, and Christmas music feels like a cheerful middle finger to my seasonal gloom.” But then something happened. December softened me.

It’s still cold and dark, but I realized those are kind of perfect conditions for gathering. You get to walk into warm rooms full of people you care about (bonus points if there’s live music), and suddenly, the dark doesn’t feel so bad. Even the cold? Built-in conversation starter. Say, “It’s freezing!” and boom—you’ve made a friend. December, you sneaky charmer.

Yeah, December has its moments. I mean, doesn’t every month, really? If you gave me a calendar, I could jot down the most embarrassing or exciting thing that happened to me each month without breaking a sweat. But I won’t do that to you… today. Most of you have been around for a while and know how 2024 has gone for me: chaotic, messy, wonderful, and occasionally mortifying.

The truth? I’m not tired of 2024 yet. I see people on social media posting their resolutions, declaring that 2025 will be Their Year, complete with meal plans and elaborate workout routines. Meanwhile, I’m over here thinking, “As long as I get to listen to my favorite music, read books that make me think too hard, laugh way too loud with friends, and still get Sunday brunch with my family, I’m good.” Honestly, for the first time in forever, I wouldn’t mind staying right where I am.

I used to write myself into these imaginary stories where Future Me was older, wiser, and—of course—had her life completely together. (Spoiler: She didn’t.) Then I’d wake up one day at the age I’d dreamed about and realize life looked very different than my notebook fantasy. So, I’d sigh dramatically, toss that notebook aside, and start all over again.

Somewhere along the way, though, I stopped writing about what life could look like and started writing about what it actually does look like. And wouldn’t you know it? Life looks pretty damn good—even when I’m overthinking everything, writing songs that are sadder than they need to be, or spiraling about something dumb I said last Thursday.

Honestly, here’s the reality. No one’s paying as much attention to you as you think they are. If someone is paying attention, it’s probably not because they’re zooming in on your mistakes. (They’re probably just wondering if you’re as cool as you seem. Note: if you’re wondering if I’m always this weird in person, I promise I’m weirder.)

Seriously. Take me, for example. I’ve experienced so many cringe-worthy moments this year that I could fill a blooper reel, but can I recall a single embarrassing thing anyone else has done? Not a chance. The world keeps spinning, the sun keeps shining (or hiding behind clouds, because it’s Binghamton), and the people you love (or like in a very casual, friendly way… I won’t make it weird.) keep showing up. Life isn’t so bad, even when it’s a little messy.

And no, cleaning up messes is not going to be my New Year’s resolution. I’m much more of a, “Look at this ridiculous mess we made—wasn’t that fun? We should do it again sometime,” type of person. Because, let’s be real. New Year’s resolutions are dumb. (Okay, maybe not all of them, but definitely most of them. No offense to the gym memberships and kale smoothies out there… Actually, I lied. All offenses intended.)

So, here’s to this year, to this month, and to all the absurd, imperfect, beautiful moments that remind us we’re literally here and alive and still somehow on track. And to knowing that life’s chaos is just the way of keeping things interesting. And by interesting, I mean hilariously unpredictable and mildly infuriating. Cheers to making messes, laughing about them later, and maybe even jotting down a new story—messy bits and all.

Oh, and I wrote a new song called What Did I Do—A relatable anthem for everyone who’s ever sent a risky text or cut their own bangs at 2 a.m. Now that I’ve written this email about loving the messes I make, I think I might have to revise the lyrics: Look what I did! What fun that was! We’re both lunatics, and I’m glad someone else is as messy as I am.

Or maybe something that rhymes. I don’t know. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

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I TALK OKAY, BUT I WRITE BETTER