Here I am, holding a new year in the palm of my hand. Sort of.

I’m little bit superstitious about the New Year, in my own way. I feel like the way you bring it in can have an effect on the way the next 12 months will fall (I brought in 2013 by going to the pub in Dubbo and having a woeful time, before coming home and feeling much better; 2013 started in a less than desirable state and warmed up when I came “home” to Canberra). I almost always make a little New Year’s Resolution or two, even if I don’t tell anyone or think that I’ll follow through. I never, ever host a party at my own residence (my housemate is holding one outside right now, but I’m not brave enough to break out and say hello). I’ve never kissed anyone at the stroke of midnight, and I feel like that is actually a good omen, which probably marks me as being terrified of commitment, but that’s okay. It’s not like I intend to really commit to my resolutions either, so at least I’m honest about it.

And every year, I get myself a diary. It has to be A5 in size, and be day-to-a-page, otherwise it’ll never work. I spend a good hour or so filling in important dates, birthdays and anniversaries, promising that I will keep up with them and send cards for each occasion. I always fill in the ominous “BACK TO WORK” entry, which this year is a little bit sooner than I’d like. I put all my contact details in the front, taking great pride in the fact that the address I enter is no longer that of my parents, and then I put it in my bag so that I have it when I go back to work.

This is about as organised as I ever get, but I do take a special kind of delight in it. Even though planning comes as naturally to me as flying does to a hippopotamus, I enjoy the idea of making the first mark on a blank slate. The paper feels fresh and still has that lovely clean smell of new stationery, and there’s no errors made, either in the lines or in my life past that first page. It’s invigorating.

I bought this year’s diary incredibly early, probably in October, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was as early as June. From the beginning of 2013, I was keen for it to end, and having next year’s diary made a brighter future almost tangible. It was an electrifying prospect.

And here we are, just hours from 2014’s birth. Am I excited? Absolutely! I’m still not sure where I’ll be bringing it in, but that’s okay – I’m still unsure of what I want 2014 to bring, except that I want it to be delightful and exciting, full of self-set challenges that will reap rewards I’ve longed for over the last few years. I have plans (as much as I ever have them) and I am going to be bold and brave and try harder to do stuff rather than just consume it. I’m ready. Bring it on.

On the other hand, I know it could all fall to pieces. That doesn’t matter though – 2014 is going to be the Year of Trying. At least, that’s the aim.

Hopefully, when it’s all over and done, my diary will be a testament I did exactly that.