The first second of the first day of the new year. The symbolism of the new beginning, full of potential, made of possibility. I'm not immune to it - last night, I chose to stay home, and made sure to be writing as the clock and the calendar rolled over. I wanted to begin as I meant to go on, to remind myself of who I am, and what I am capable of. I am a writer. I use symbolism to shore myself against ruin.
Still, for all I love the symbolism inherent in the fresh page on the calendar, I don't believe in making new year's resolutions. Not because I think I am already practically perfect in every way, but because I know I am not. I know that over the course of the year I will make mistakes, and stumble, I will hurt the people I love. I will be less than the person I want to be, and I don't want to wait until next January to fix that.
Today is a new beginning, full of possibility and potential. But tomorrow is as well, and there is a magic in that.