This year – each year – working by darkness, and glowing with intention – we fling confetti and slurp bubbles and let ourselves believe that what’s passed is past. From the cusp of a moment, we leap across midnight to morning, fearless and expectant in the emptiness we crave. We take heed of ourselves as our own redeemers – as if, looking back on the events of our lives, our will might have made the difference.

The power of beginning finds us willing, but we miss its inherent truth, which is that change and desire combust only in the present moment. Instead, we make plans for the world we want to inhabit, after we achieve our new life. And, before we know it, we are the same old us again, forgetting who it was that dreamed of something new.

When I find myself at that moment – when I have filled new year’s blank slate with certainties I learned last year, and every year before – I resolve to be brave and dream again. To trust in the durability of my heart and the fertile magic of knowing that I want to begin – and I want it enough to forget everything else, but now.