It’s that time again, when people can’t help but wax a little poetic about the last 12 months (I’m no exception) and make resolutions for the next year (from which I abstain — for scientific reasons, sort of). I made new friends and lost touch with some others. I did some things I’m really proud of and some stuff I’m not so proud of. (I also did plenty of things I feel very neutral about, even though I have a sneaking suspicion that maybe I “should” feel not-proud of them.) There was a break-up in there, as well as a lot of laughter and late nights and big decisions and uncertainty and moments that felt like the best of my life.  

But just that — that sounds a lot like 2010 and 2009 and basically every year of my late teens and early 20s. This year, though… man. I got my Master’s degree. I spent Wednesday evenings all summer at long happy hours, re-discovering how great Chicago and my classmates could be. I turned 23 over a dinner of Thai food and a gift of tickets to see The Decemberists, who put on an excellent show. I spent seven months sleeping on an inflatable bed. I had my first real job interview and didn’t get laughed out of the editor-in-chief’s office (my definition of a success). I sent a text to a friend in New York along the lines of, “So I’m actually moving to NYC in a week. Can I ship all my shit to your apartment in a couple of days? I’ll be there right after.” I lived on her love seat for a week, which was the start of an exhilarating, crushing relationship with the city, one that is more complex and fulfilling than any I’ve ever had with a human being. I saw my bank account dip lower than it’s been since I was 13. I accepted an internship with my favorite magazine, and shook my head in disbelief every morning I swiped into the building. I took another internship with a company that intimidated me — so much technology! — but I’m going back full-time starting in 2012. I spent a week eating, drinking, and enjoying the unbelievable March warmth of New Orleans with friends. I think I cried more than I did in 2010 (which wasn’t hard, since I only cried two or three times last year), but nothing that brought me to tears was upsetting or memorable even a week later. I spent Sundays all spring playing on a softball team with my friends (and then eating pizza and drinking beer at a nearby bar). I went to Lollapalooza in August, and danced my ass off a Girl Talk concert in March. I ate a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I saw my parents for 18 days between January and November, but am somehow closer to them now than I think I’ve ever been. I bought a piece of furniture for the first time. I ate Thanksgiving dinner next to the dance critic for the New York Times. I worked hard on my final project in grad school, and was so tired after it that I couldn’t stand straight when I finally got to Maine to visit my family. I (sort of/finally) learned to ride a bike. I survived one of the biggest storms Chicago has seen in 50 years and spent my snow day stomping around Northwestern’s blanketed campus. 

TL;DR — 2011 & I got along well, and I’m hoping I’ll be able to say the same for 2012.