I remember last New Year’s Eve very well for several reasons, not least of which is the brawl I almost got into with some party crashers who showed up at my friend Brian’s annual New Year’s soiree and began pushing people around. But more importantly, I remember that the idea of Barstow germinated that day.
I was working for the twice-weekly paper in Molalla at the time and itching to move up to bigger and better things. I browsed through the jobs posted on JournalismJobs.com after work on New Year’s Eve and came across an opening for a reporter at a daily in Barstow, California. There were several things that immediately attracted me. It was a small paper and therefore attainable. It was a gritty-sounding desert town, which reminded me of my youth in Tucson, for better or worse, and the ad had a scrappy and slightly humorous tone. I liked the look of their Web site. I decided I would compile my clips the next day.
At Brian’s house that night, I told an acquaintance that I was thinking of applying for a job in some Southern California town called Barstow, which I had never heard of until I saw the job posting.
The acquaintance knew about Barstow. He had been stranded there once for three days in the middle of the summer.
“Oh, God,” he said. “Don’t go to Barstow. It’s a terrible place.”
Terrible places have interesting news, I reasoned, and I sent my clips and resume out the next day.
I spent New Year’s Eve in Barstow this year. It’s not a terrible place. I have been as happy and unhappy, in alternating stages, here as I was in Portland or Molalla or Tucson, and as much as I probably would be anywhere. It’s true what they say; wherever you go, you take yourself with you, although I do find that a change of venue sometimes brings new clarity and certainly offers new experiences that can improve your underlying state of being.
I didn’t try to fight anyone this year. I did drink tequila and listened to some drunken love advice from a stranger. The people of Barstow are a good bunch to spend New Year’s with. They are straightforward, friendly, and they love to party. I had thoughts of going to Vegas, but in the end, I’m glad that I rang in the new year in the place where I spent most of the old one.
I like New Year’s resolutions. They appeal to the half of me that is a Type A personality, and they give it ammunition to bludgeon my irresponsible other half.
I think 2009 is the year of the pragmatic optimist. We know that we are screwed but have hope that something better can come out of it. We are not slaves to dogma. We’ll try whatever might work. I think those facets of the national psyche contributed to the election results in November. Obama spoke about change, but he also seemed level-headed, practical.
So 2009 is a year for me to be hopeful yet pragmatic as well. I will focus one honing the skills I already have, paying attention to detail, and not accepting “good enough.” I will concentrate on some of the facets of adult living that still elude me after more than eight years of taking care of myself, such as preventative maintenance rather than putting out fires. I will get my oil changed and make dentist appointments. I will keep my sights on the big picture but focus on the details in the meantime.
Not the most lofty of goals, but if I can keep to them, 2009 will be a good year.
Happy New Year, y’all.