Dear 2012

Dear 2012,

Oh! How I’ve waited for this moment.  For 12 months now, I’ve fantasized about this letter.  I’ve dreamed of telling you exactly what I think of you. For an entire year, I’ve stockpiled memories and moments you’ve given me, like a squirrel preparing for a long and harsh winter.  You’re a crafty one for sure, but I’m totally onto you now.

It all started last January. January 3rd, actually.  You didn’t waste anytime. POOF. My car “disappears”.  I think it’s because you thought I deserved something much nicer than my little two-door Civic that I whipped around in during high school.  And when the police found it in that random alleyway spraypainted, with no tires, no radio, none of my stuff, and um, no engine, that was just for closure. Right? I mean, I needed to know I wasn’t getting that sucker back. You were helping me move on.

Of course, when I bought my next car after that, you had more invaluable insights for me.  I needed to know that I couldn’t work for a month and half without a day off, and expect to get from point A to B in one piece.  Also, that I should check the brakes first before buying a car off Craigslist.  So naturally, you had me smash my brand new car into the one in front of me at 9pm in a horrible neighborhood. I needed to learn! You let me down easy though, because the guy in front of me drove a beater, and the cops totally took pity on a the little white girl with the violin.

But I was resilient, because that’s my middle name.  I got myself another car, and I think you forgot about me for a little while, because I seem to remember a tiny pocket of time somewhere in April sans any kind of epic drama.

Then you hit me with a few little jabs, nothing as big as your usual swings. Sure, a few pretty horrific bouts of the flu, but I got to watch two full seasons of Downton Abbey, so we’ll leave that out. Oh, and about that custom built, extra small-framed road bike that I spent a lot of time and money on, I guess I didn’t really need that. Or my two childhood cats. I mean, they were really old.

What I clearly needed was some kind of debilitating shoulder injury that would take an eternity to diagnose and treat.  And of course, cost a freaking fortune, too. Yes! I was too happy, and I was working too much.  How dare I find three other girls that I love to make music with? How dare I  absolutely love what I do for a living? I was getting cocky, and it needed to stop.

Oh, and it has.

At first I was devastated.  But then I remembered that you have a round-about way of showing your love, 2012. I started to look at this chapter of my year differently. I realized, you didn’t make me spend my savings on six months of treatment that got me almost nowhere. You gave me four more wonderful relationships to brighten my days — Paul the massage therapist, Steve the chiropractor, Maria, the acupuncture lady (she was such a good listener!), and Mike, the redneck physical therapist, who loves Romney and guns.

But then something changed.  After spending the entirety of the summer in the dark hollows of my violaless life, I decided that you really suck sometimes, 2012. And I wasn’t okay with that.
So I somewhere found the strength to ignore your antics, and piece together a personal mantra for the things in my life that make me feel incredible.  Soon after, my life started to level out, and now I once again bounce around with a big smile, and a sunny outlook on most things.  After all, few people have families and quartets like mine.

But I got wise. I made a deal with 2013. And this is what she insisted:

I must:
Challenge myself musically, and personally. And push myself to do things I wouldn’t ordinarily do.
Continue to surround myself with people who I value and love.
Continue to push myself to develop a strong voice, and to stand up for my beliefs.
Try to be the best friend, colleague, and teacher I can be.
Always try to find good, even when it’s extra tricky.

And in return, 2013 will:
Bring me good car luck.
Bring me strength to navigate all of this injury crap.
And of course, 2013 will just be a lot nicer to me than you were, 2012.

Don’t let the door hitcha on the way out!

Love,
Aimee

2012blog

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