So what if my life isn't exactly what my 20-something self thought it would be by now? I still have plenty of time to accomplish everything I want in life, and I'm not afraid to climb the mountains it takes to enjoy the view.
As I approach my one-year birthday and I reflect on what it means to be tied up and untied, I am reminded the importance of holding on to hope, of dreaming big, and believing that miracles can and do happen.
My mother was more likely to break an arm chasing after us (which she did) than receive the embrace of a loving son. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my upbringing wasn't the reason my love for her came with conditions.
This month something happened to me that had never happened before. Absolutely unprecedented. It may be accurate to say that what happened to me is infinitely preferable to the alternative. I turned seventy-five.
Now, I'm not saying you should go out and buy some coveralls and start braiding your hair again with a soggy stuffed animal in hand, but if you're going to focus on any one resolution, resolve to value yourself, not a number.
Let's face it; where your birthday falls can be directly proportional to how much attention you get, and things like that are darn important. They affect self-esteem. They affect sibling relations. And, of course, they affect presents.
Although its supporters will probably spend the coming days talking about its apparent successes, the question of whether we're better off with this fledgling $8 billion-a-year federal agency remains very much unanswered.