Out of all my New Years Eves, this one was pretty mild. No tequila shots laced with hot sauce, no games of pass the champagne bottle, no cigars and throwing up. No tears and fights with mom. No rollicking dance parties, no grimy bars, no kissing someone at midnight. There were none of the familiar faces from the past few years— from my married life— no family, no old friends. Although I donned a dress and drank pink rose and hugged a few teammates at our coach’s house while the ball dropped, I was more alone than I’ve ever been.

But I was— am— happy.

You see people tweet about making this year a year of change. Of “reinvention.” Where they really are going to emerge next December totally new, shiny creatures, completely remade from the clay that was 2013. No one really does that— there’s no way You 2014 can be that radically different from You 2013. But actually… I am. I will be. I’m already embarking on a path that leads me so far from where I came I might as well pen a self-help memoir now.

Me 2013 was married with short hair living in Indiana running in circles for a living but craving home in Virginia and a wedding she’d already had.

Me 2014 is a single growing-out-her-hair South Carolinian. I run in circles for a living but I embrace it like I never have before. Who knew being a pro runner was so fun? It only took me three years to appreciate it. The people in my world… I didn’t know them from Adam 4 months ago. I prioritize my relationships and my self before any project. (Ask anyone— I chose the laptop over my main relationship last year. “My blog will always love me,” was my constant refrain.) I’m making time for creativity, instead of flying by the seat of my pants and I’m happy with where I am— right now, right this very second. The overarching need for emotional stimulation and the fierce urge for MORE has settled and I’m comfortable. Confident. Calm.

I’m a total cliche, but gosh, it feels good. Happy New Year— here’s hoping you make all your dreams come true this time.