2012 In Retrospect

January—I spent the month working on my thesis, “The Nine Lives of Snapdragon,” though I hadn’t yet decided on the title yet.  I took a look at the story of Puss in Boots with the idea of what really happened, without the magic and the talking animals, etc.  Puss became a young woman who had been an assassin, on the run from the mistakes she made.  She had such a strong voice, the story almost wrote itself.  I enjoyed the freedom of an entire month to work on this story.  I also spent time polishing my music and working on an article for a local magazine.  (The article didn’t really work out.)

February—Nothing very particular happened in this month, aside from beginning my final semester of college.  I had a lot of work to do, with both my thesis and my senior recital looming.  I was beginning to gather together several people to perform in my recital of original compositions in March—scheduling rehearsals, hunting down performers.  It was both stressful and stimulating to work with so many different people, to bring all the details together and plan for one moment.

March—My composition recital was March 13 at 7:30.  I had written nine pieces of music—three voice-and-piano, one for woodwind trio, three for choir, and two for solo piano.  Thirteen performers helped me with the recital, friends and acquaintances and strangers alike.  They helped hold me together through the stressful last days before the recital.  On the morning of the event, I woke up in my sunshiny room and stretched, and then the realization of what I would have to do that day hit me like a ton of bricks.  I bought two dozen roses that morning to give to my performers, ate a sushi lunch in the five minutes before class, baked cookies and made punch and had my hair styled by a friend.  At 7:25, I was backstage in my blue gown and red shoes, panicking.  At 7:32, I walked out onstage and suddenly, all was right.  It was delightful to hear my music performed, and though it was far from perfect, I felt wonderful about it all.

April—Once the recital was done, I had time to relax.  I had been clever enough to schedule myself lightly for the end of college, taking only the classes that were absolutely necessary to finish up.  I had time to breathe, time to appreciate my wonderful, beautiful school and all the wonderful people in it.

May—I turned in my thesis, 525 pages and my proudest accomplishment.  A few days later I went to see the performance of my best friend’s play, Decision Height, for which I had written a few short themes of music.  And on the 20^th, I graduated second in my class from Hollins University, which will always be, to me, one of the best places in the world.

June, July, August—Here my calendar goes blank.  I had no plans, really, no prospects.  I went back home with my family, and for several weeks I camped out on the sofa.  There were a few different job opportunities I had, but not terribly many, and none of them panned out.  I spent the time writing, working, and trying to figure out what I wanted to do with this period of my life, which I had always wanted to reach but never actually planned for.

September—Finally I screwed up my courage and made the jump.  With the help of my father and mother, I looked for and found an apartment in Roanoke, VA, the same town where my university is located.  I was familiar with the area and the people, and so by the second-to-last week in the month I had moved into a tiny studio apartment, basement level, one room, kitchen and bathroom.  It had white walls, brown carpets and old-fashioned green bathroom, and it was dim and ugly and to this day I absolutely love it.  I call it my foxhole.

October—For a frightening few weeks, I watched my savings disappearing to rent and bills and things that I had never really had to deal with before.  I tried a few places looking for a job, and finally I walked into a place where they were willing to take me, despite lack of experience.  Hired as a server at Ruby Tuesday, I had to admit that it was less than I had expected for myself, and probably less than others had expected of me.  But my family had the grace not to say anything, and so I started there with a light heart.

November—The primary focus of this month was a new writing project I began, part of the National Novel Writing Month movement which I had avoided for all four years of college.  I decided, however, that I couldn’t run forever, and so I chose one of my old stories and buckled down.  The novel I chose was one which I had tried several times to write, a complicated and detailed fantasy story involving a cursed princess, a long journey, and a young man who has no idea what he’s getting into.  The latter is an important element in any good story, I think.  NaNoWriMo was terribly helpful to me, in teaching good writing habits.  This doesn’t mean, of course, that I kept up with those habits after the month was over.

December—This month is always about Christmas, and it’s true in this case as well.  I had planned carefully to allow for as much time off as possible for the holidays, but it still was a bit of a shock to have only four days to spend with my family.  I suppose this is being an adult.  Despite all the time-crunching, all the most important traditions were accomplished, and I returned to my foxhole thinking of the years to come, when I might celebrate Christmas on my own, with new people whom I love.  That time, however, has not yet come.  I still look back to the blue mountains and the hills dotted with horses to find home.

It was a landmark year, full of firsts and lasts, and certainly the first year of a new chapter of my life.  Looking into the new year, I see nothing that is certain, and that is both exciting and terrifying.  I can’t wait to get into the rest of my life.  Happy New Year, everyone!