New Year's Present, New Year's Past

The year was 1999 ... 
And the world anxiously waited the dawn of a not only a new decade, but also a new millennium. Some feared Y2K, while others (like myself) rolled our eyes and said life shall bring whatever it brings so preparedness is great, but handwringing is pointless.

I was 20 years old, on the cusp of 21. I lived in Chicago's Uptown neighborhood. I attended journalism school in the South Loop. I had a long-term boyfriend who loved concerts, Cubs games and exploring the Chicago streets for hours on end. My roommate was an amazing singer with gorgeous eyes, fascinating friends, a boyfriend I thought was bad news and two kittens that made me hate cats. My bank account was all but empty.

I worked two jobs. In one, I served as a waitress at The Artists Café on South Michigan. The place was glamorous in my eyes—owned by Greek sisters, most of the staff included twenty-somethings from all over the world; the diners were intriguing sorts who danced in the ballet, taught at the nearby universities and generally seemed to lived lives I envied as a young, broke student from Minnesota. In the other I ran the front desk at a health club in “Boys Town.” I rode my bike down North Halsted and over to Broadway at 5 a.m. each weekday—sometimes after arriving home from my waitressing job well after Midnight. Oftentimes I think I loved that job more than any I’ve had since. I chatted with the members who came in to workout before heading off to their jobs. They were well dressed and attractive. They asked me about school, shared their stories and gossiped about others in the gym. They showed me their published articles and told me about their dazzling careers. I wanted their glamorous, urban adult lives as soon as my sexy student-in-the-city life grew up.

I was giddy with anticipation nearly every day because I was out on my own and I knew my adult life was taking shape.

While I cannot recall much of what I thought as my then-boyfriend and I hunkered down alone in my family northern Minnesota cabin with some strawberry Boon’s Farm on New Year’s Eve 1999, I know with certainty it reflected my attitude toward Y2K and the potential end of the world as we knew it: I knew what I wanted; I prepared for the thrilling (and not so thrilling) possibilities and I believed predictions of any sort were pointless. My 10-year outlook was this: I envisioned myself not only as a member of the gym where I worked, but also as a diner in fabulous restaurants, a world traveler and an editor climbing the ladder at a magazine in Chicago. The guy and I would be crazy in love still and taking the town by storm. No kids, of course. I’d own my own condo and use public transit.

Closing the curtain on the 00s

Basically, none of those things has happened with the exception of the no kids and the restaurants—semi-fabulous ones, anyway. I cook gourmet meals when given the chance. I’m married to a man I met on a blind date and whose kindness, intelligence and carpentry skills amaze me. We own a house. I work in PR and marketing with a little freelance gig or two on the side. We live in Minneapolis. I drive a VW Golf. Forget the gym; I race bikes. I still have yet to set foot out of North America. Little did I know the next 10 years held a lot of heartache and a lot of unexpected joys as far as my love life, my schooling and my journalism career.

It seems that 10 years ago we looked forward with bright-eyed expectations of a new era (and, again, that whole Y2K fear). So much happened. Bubbles of all sorts burst. We entered into war. We got angry. We found hope. On New Year’s Eve 2009, as a nation, we look ahead and hope the next decade is better in light of the economy, health care and peace.

As I reflect on where I was physically and emotionally 10 years ago, I realize that I have not paused to consider where I will be in 10 more. It is weird, coming out on the other end of a decade that coincided with my twenties. While I am a chaser of dreams, I must admit that with so many of those monumental life experiences are out of the way, so much of it feels decided. Looking ahead is … different through my 30-year-old worldview.

I give thanks for where I am right now, especially in light of what so many others are experiencing. I look ahead to the possibilities while dismissing expectations. In the past 10 years I have established a deeper understanding of life and self, and if I hope for anything it is to continue on a path of growth—one lined with copious amounts of laughter and joy, plus a little mischief—and to rekindle a healthy dose of giddy anticipation so I may integrate back into my life. Most of all, I wish not to spend another decade waiting for the next big event, but rather to make things happen every day and enjoy the "now."