wild&wittyWeb

2012 Manifesto

Top 10, top 100, top 25, top 10 of top 40, top of the top lists: I am drawn to them. I like New Year’s Eve better than Christmas. I like reflection. I like dressing up and glitter and newness.

Cults and M83 represent, to me, 2011 young America. Compared to their incredibly catchy and upbeat dance beats, these artists’ lyrics are such bizarre downers. Are their lyrics ironically expressing the music? Or is the music ironically defying the lyrics? The dissonance certainly reminds me of young 2011 me, with actions that rarely matched up with my feelings or wishes.

Eighty percent of the time when I look up from work, while listening to NPR’s 24/7 streaming channel, KCRW’s Morning Becomes Eclectic, or any 2011 list, to see which artist is affecting me enough to look up from work, I realize that I had an opportunity in 2011 to see this artist live and I missed it. Eighty percent of the time when I look up from work for a good song, a missed opportunity hits me in the gut.

2011 was a year of big changes for the world. Evil doers were defeated. The little people overcame the powerful few. We loved to hate and hated to love a spectrum of villains in entertainment. We embraced the shades of gray between good and bad in our heroes. Fear did not stand in the world’s way this year.

But fear stood in my way. I was afraid of letting things go. The fear, sometimes cleverly masking itself as ‘be faithful’ or ‘be patient’ or ‘how dare you expect more,’ festered in a holding pattern. And my valid emotions from festering frustrations needlessly hurt others.

In 2011, I finished an experiment I began in 2009. I learned my lesson: When you know in your gut this person is not the best fit for you, end it. Right now. End it as soon as you know it. Don’t let the fear (regardless of how it’s masked) keep you from doing what’s right.

In 2011, like most years, I polled others to check my gut or to more fully understand myself through extroversion. I also tried a short-lived tactic: Keeping love tucked away from prying eyes. Would shielding it from others protect it? Like most years since 2004, I ended relationships in the spring. Relationships with me were ended in the fall.

In 2011 I returned to a comfortably stupid cycle from 2008. I trusted my gut and gave into passionate excitement. I did my research; calmed my nerves; planned, hoped and wished; and vowed I could make the crazy idea of a new relationship work. But, just like in 2008, the effort was exhausted by the autumn. It’s the end of 2011, but all the sad songs with the most poignant lyrics still haven’t helped me learn the lesson needed for the repetition of 2008’s mistakes.

In 2011, I traveled much more than usual. I shivered in January Cancun, I celebrated in May Blacksburg, I schemed in May Virginia mountains, I sweated in July Philly, I mud danced in August Chicago, I stage danced in September NYC, I beach biked in September LA, I wore boots in November and December Texas.

In 2011, I expanded my knowledge of music, feminism and marketing. I read music blogs, followed more fans on Twitter and brainstormed countless times how to connect my passions of dance (as a performer) with music (as an audience member). I went to more live shows with a wider range of people than ever before. I took a stab at my first true mixtape CD. I read a Led Zeppelin biography. I also read Cinderella Ate My Daughter, the Internet-shaking “All the Single Ladies” Atlantic article, and a book referenced in it: Marriage, a History. I read more non-fiction books on a wider variety of topics than ever before. I went to a life-changing work-paid-for training session that gave me a completely new set of mathematical skills. My brain enjoyed its heady year and sometimes itself tricked into thinking it was better than my heart, soul and body.

Throughout all of 2010 and 2011, I’ve craved more adventure, more passion and more loyalty. In 2011, I made the right steps with dance, relationships and the treatment of my body. But in 2011, I fearfully ignored where I spend the most of my time - work. How has the hatred of the computer screen and the fear of leaving stability festered to ruin my relationships? 2011’s escapism and quest for knowledge seems to have tied me tighter to my office chair.

In 2012, I want a new way to earn money - outside of the defense industry. (In 2011 I learned to be specific with my intentions or the universe will laugh at me.) In 2012, I want to deepen my knowledge - and share that knowledge - of the mind-body connection with yoga teacher training. In 2012, I want to seriously reflect, listen to my inner wisdom, and surrender to god/goddess/universe/connectedness to understand my draw to “the west.” If appropriate, I want to concoct an action plan to move where people like me are attracted.  (In 2011, I successfully got the word ‘should’ out of my vocabulary. I love that.)

I was surprised a few weeks ago when - in a fit of cycling self-doubt - I realized how much I messed up 2011. Dearest 2011, you were great. I made a lot of mistakes and didn’t live up to your potential awesomeness. In 2012, I want to be a fearless adult. I will run into challenges. I will stumble and fall. I’ll cry, a lot. I’ll feel lonely at times. But I will love myself, love others in valuable ways, dismiss fits of cycling self doubt, add to my knowledge and flourish.

During this last week of 2011, I’ve switched my listening habits. I gave up the tearful year-end indie singer-songwriter lists (but I still love you NPR Music!) and traded in some Phish, New Deal and other improvisational upbeat bands designed for community dancing. I got rid of stuff I never wear and swept the cobwebs from under the heater in my room. Tomorrow, I will get on a bus with Sarah - one of the women I most admire for her down-to-earth, easy-going attitude - to meet Meghan - one of the women I most admire for her sense of adventure and bluntness - to switch from 2011 to 2012 in New York City - one of the cities I most admire for its simple grid and filled-to-the-brim vitality. I’m ready, 2012.