Last new year’s eve, I dragged myself out of bed long before the sun rose, bought a cup of bad gas station coffee, and watched the the last sunrise of 2012 from a sand dune in the middle of nowhere, Texas.
I liked it so much that I resolved to make it my tradition of sorts–a quiet, very nondescript, laid-back method of bidding the old year farewell.
This year, new year’s eve fell smack dab in the middle of a relentlessly motivation-less, sleepy, long stretch of life. My husband at work, I put myself to bed at 2:30 a.m. on New Year’s Eve and dragged myself back out of the comfort of my blankets and pillows two hours later to go find a sunrise. But not before spending an agonizing ten minutes listening to the voices in my head argue with each other.
“This is a stupid tradition, Steffani Erin. You can’t really even consider it a tradition–come on, you only did it once before. Go back to sleep.”
“If you don’t get up and go watch the sunrise RIGHT NOW, you’re going to spend the rest of 2014 regretting it. Now, is that how you want to live out the next 365 days?”
I held on to the thought of impending regret long enough to bolt out of bed and throw some clothes on. Forty minutes later I was sitting on an isolated stretch of beach, watching a hermit crab peek out of its hole and keeping an eye on the horizon as the sun rose over the Pacific.
Of course I took the time for obligatory end-of-year reflections about how much life happened during 2013. My year in a nutshell: