So, it’s 2011. Janurary is off to a roaring start and the city is full of crisp air and new beginnings. It’s hard for me not to get overwhelmed, walking around with wide-eyes and thin skin all the time. I love this city. The rush and noise of it Market Street, and the quiet of the Free Library. I love the smells of Reading Terminal Market and finding small pieces of the city to make mine. There are things about the city that are new and scary to me, but I love those things for how deeply they make me feel, for new experiences, for taking me outside of my comfort zone and giving me perspective.

I’m not a girl who makes New Year’s Resolutions in a real, non-ironic way. I might say that my plans include giving more hugs or continuing to be as awesome as possible, but that’s not really a new leaf.

Mostly, what 2011 has been about for me so far is reflecting on the changes I’ve made in the past year. About the beginnings and endings that last year brought. In 2010, I ended a really bad relationship, moved out of a pretty unhealthy living situation, stopped drinking and using drugs (even recreationally) and quit my dead end job. I moved to a city that I love, started a job that both makes me happy and pays my bills, fell in love with someone amazing, and started volunteering at an organization whose goals I support.

I want to take a minute to talk about falling in love. I’m over thirty, which means it’s happened a few times. I think there’s a moment that you know you’re in love. I’m past letting attraction and emotion knock my priorities out of line. I’ve been in and out of relationships, like all lesbians of a certain age, and what I’ve come to is this: movies and television would lead us to believe that there is just one perfect soul mate for each of us, hiding anonymous in the crowd and waiting to be discovered through a series of zany misunderstandings and madcap adventures. I’m past buying into that. I’m also past letting the inevitable cynicism of failed relationships ruin the prospect of romance in general.

That said, when I moved to Philadelphia, I was pretty sure I was going to wait until I’d lived here for a year to start dating. That is not, in fact, what happened. I met someone at volunteer orientation training, and we started dating. (This is the short version. If you ask her, she will have a different story. There might be madcap misunderstandings involved, but she’s wrong. In this instance.) This is really the first time I’ve felt optimistic about a relationship being one that I could grow with (not grow out of). That in addition to the initial infatuation, we might grow into something that thrived on shared goals and similar values. That there could be a future together that involved naming pets after Harry Potter characters. That in addition to being delirious with new love, I’m excited about the mundane chores of the day. That I look forward to working through disagreements and roadblocks as much as I do the good stuff, because there’s a future beyond that.

This new relationship, this city, the job, all of the opportunities afforded to me serve to keep me inspired, and to help keep me actively creative. This year I’ve mapped out projects that have been a long time coming, and I can’t wait to see them start coming to life.

I get homesick, and doubtful, and neurotic, of course. Everyone does. But for the most part, I’m excited about seeing where things go. The adventures I’ll have, seeing through projects I’ve started, and becoming more thouroughly Philadelphian. Bring it on, New Year.