New Year New...whatever
2025 hit and I was ready to become New Lindsey. This Lindsey was going to be so much better than Old Lindsey. This one was going to have a moisturizing skincare routine, including lymphatic drainage. This Lindsey was going to be confident and not shy and ready to take up space in her new state of Texas. New Lindsey, an upgrade of all upgrades, was going to get a sexy job and have money and buy a new car. She would not wear pajamas all day. These things were possible with New Lindsey, and they still are, but like most transitions from an old thing to a new thing, much of the old remains.
New Lindsey didn’t stand a chance. Halfway through January first, I started to feel sniffly with a tickle in my throat. In the past, I spent the day with George eating sushi and contemplating who I wanted to become. Instead, I traveled from Tucson, where we’d spent New Years Eve with George’s family, back to Texas to pick up my car, which had been sitting in an airport parking lot for the last two weeks. It wasn’t a glamorous first day. It was tiring. But United gave me a full can of pineapple flavored AHA, and I hadn’t received a full can on an airplane in over a year. In 2025, I hoped full cans would be the default. Not a glass. The whole thing.
Since getting back to Texas, I’ve been sick in bed coughing up goo, blowing goo out of my nose, sucking on cough drops, playing hours of Luigi’s Mansion 3 on the Switch, and wearing the same pajamas I wore during the months of October, November, and December. Though I temporarily had a deeper and bronchially distressed voice, was anything new?
I have a lot of goals for 2025, including reading about 50 books in my to-be-read pile (more on this in a future post). This involves reading about five to six books a month, and I’m including old titles that have sat on my shelf for over a decade. I plan to try to read them for the first time, along with indie pubs, and new releases. This project is a clearing. Making space for new books later. I still plan to buy and read some releases this year like Chloe Caldwell’s Trying, and I’ve been waiting in months-long anticipation for American Thighs by Elizabeth Ellen out this month with Clash Books.
Apart from my reading goals, I plan to edit my novel for the whole year, a little bit all the time, so by the end of the year it has a major revision and could be ready for an agent. Speaking of agents, my goal in 2025 is to get one. At one point during my illness the last couple days, I rotated between my internet tabs of QueryTracker, Publishers Marketplace, and streaming Shrek on Peacock. However, I find if I spend too much time on these sites, I’ll drive myself crazy thinking I haven’t achieved enough.
Old Lindsey set things up pretty nicely. In 2024, Old Lindsey drafted a novel. She applied for a residency and was accepted, which New Lindsey can reap the rewards. Old Lindsey moved to a new state and adapted despite feeling shy and insecure. I don’t know about New Lindsey. I’m not sure I need her.
As I drove from the Houston airport and was starting to feel my New Year illness, I kept thinking of the word upgrade. It kept returning as I changed lanes and moved through the tolls. Upgrade upgrade upgrade. Was this the right word for 2025? Last year it was “endurance,” but later switched to “self-validation.”
I can’t tell if “upgrade” is something I think I need to achieve, something I’m hungry for when another word would be more supportive and nurturing. Am I just wanting too much?
I thought of “upgrade” in terms of replacing or renewing the old, whether that be old items like my nearly deadbeat car or renewing habits like drinking more water or stretching. I also thought, I am a writer now but could be a writer with an agent and a forthcoming book in the year 2025. And that was the true essence of “upgrade.” Still, it feels like I’m reaching, but why not reach?
Due to my reaching, I set up great systems for the last few years. My writing practice is evermore dedicated and strong. The act of submitting and receiving both rejections and acceptances remains consistent. The act of submitting and getting mostly rejected from jobs, residencies, and conference opportunities is abundant. I guess I’m hoping for more luck, which isn’t something I can control. I can control my persistence, my actions. My foolish hope. Maybe that is the word for 2025. Foolish Hope.
I don’t buy the concept of New Year New Me. I am still me. Old Lindsey but with careful intentions. With spells and manifestations. I hope to not wear pajamas for the rest of 2025 while lying in bed playing Scare Scraper. I will eventually wash my face and brush my teeth and sit upright. For now, I am taking it slow while listening to YouTube Fireplace sounds, trusting that the systems I’ve built will harvest something exciting in 2025.