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  • I burned my first calendar in high school in the backyard of my best friend's house. I don't remember if it was New Years freshman year, when I went to the party the cops broke up, or New Years sophomore year, when we were locked out of his house and I had to jimmy open his bedroom window. It wasn't New Years senior year, when I kissed my now-wife for the first time. Maybe it was junior year.

    I've burned a calendar every New Years since—sometimes with friends, sometimes with my wife, sometimes with whomever is at the party I'm at, sometimes alone—as my way of releasing the ending year and starting the new year unburdened. A celebration of new beginnings, always so full of possibility.
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