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Charlotte Reader / Her Campus
Northeastern | Life

Everything I Am in Pursuit of This Year

Taylor Zinnie Student Contributor, Northeastern University
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Northeastern chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.

I have always been deeply superstitious about new beginnings, and none feel as grand as the start of the year. Every New Year’s Eve, I pay careful attention to the color of my underwear and eat 12 grapes under the table as the clock strikes midnight. I move through the turn of the year with a strange meticulousness and a quiet panic, convinced that whatever I do in those final moments will set the tone, determining what lies ahead.

Maybe that is why I feel such an urgency to name what I am seeking from 2026 before the year can carry me away with it. 

  1. An abundance of deep, full-body laughter. The silent kind that robs you of air and folds you in two, leaving its mark in a satisfying stomach ache and teary eyes and sore cheeks.
  2. The self-assurance to leave. Like really, truly gather my things and go without hesitation or a double-take (I don’t yet know how to move without being shoved).
  3. Comfort with silence.
  4. Forgiveness for the naivety and blind reverence I had at 14, then again at 18, which hardened into the guardedness of 20. 
  5. An understanding that love and acceptance are a birthright, not something to be earned.
  6. To be seen exactly as I am: stripped down to my skin, bruised, a metallic taste still lingering on my tongue. To throw up my hands and turn out my pockets, to toss the heaviest of my baggage off a ledge for it to land in a heap at another’s feet. To offer up all of these truths and be met with love because of them, not despite them.
  7. A phone pile at dinner time.
  8. Hands that pet many open-mouthed dogs on sidewalks and craft rough-edged creations out of clay, not turn over my phone to see if her name has illuminated the bottom two inches of my screen.
  9. For a smile to replace the nausea when looking at pictures from that time in my life I haven’t quite outgrown yet.
  10. Insatiable curiosity. 
  11. To be the type of girl who calls her mom once a week to ask for a walkthrough of her chicken cutlet recipe or to update her on that date I mentioned last time or anything at all. Not just when I remember that she’s aging too. 
  12. Kissing. Like a lot of kissing. Especially when it’s motiveless, especially when it’s paired with pauses to giggle.
  13. To be surrounded by people who will readjust my necklace when the clasp has slipped to the front, who know to give me an arrival time 30 minutes before they actually expect me, who read my writing without being asked.
  14. The unwillingness to bite my tongue.
  15. The attunement to not mistake ease and simplicity for boredom. A reminder that my craving for chaos is neither sacred nor profound nor cinematic, but instead that I am deserving of connections that feel safe, free of complication. 
  16. Conversation so enthralling that I lose all concept of time and forget I ever had priorities elsewhere.
  17. A stomach that holds guilt and shame as poorly as it holds alcohol. One that can feel these things and allow them to dissipate.
  18. Patience and gentleness. I don’t always want to be defined by my brutality.
  19. To unlearn the instinct to become coldhearted as a form of self-preservation. To refuse to shed my tenderness in exchange for something impenetrable. To resist the impulse to bite the hand that reaches for the closet door behind which I hide my clutter. To see that detachment has eroded my humanity, not shielded me from exposure. This fear and what it has made of me is all so boring.
  20. Fresh fruit every week. 
  21. The courage and health to dance whenever I can hear the music, and even when I can’t.
  22. Devastation that reminds me I am not meant to leave this world unscathed, balanced by the understanding that my art does not require my unraveling. I strive to be resonant without needing pain as proof.
  23. Slow wakeups. Feeling well-rested more often. Fewer nightmares in which I am tirelessly running from something.
  24. Joy that is unproductive and unexpectant. 
  25. Peace with the fact that I cannot be everything to everyone, no matter how many hours of sleep I sacrifice. Unrelenting hunger, but not at the cost of my nervous system. A relationship with time that feels forgiving.
  26. Unburdened childlike freedom and a scraped knee to show for it.

But maybe, I’m tired of waiting for the illusion of a fresh start to come alive.

So, here’s to the last time I wait for a definitive ending before allowing myself to begin. Start now. Feel everything. Fall apart, burn all the way down and rebuild from what’s left. Crack and splinter and let the light come through. Start again. Try on the skin of something bigger and louder until it fits, or until you realize it always has. Daydream about all you’re hoping to be and put it into words. Let it be incomplete, messy, aspirational. Let it risk imperfection in favor of truth. Let it be the antidote to apathy.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to find a few of these things gently used on Depop.

Taylor Zinnie

Northeastern '27

Taylor Zinnie is a third-year criminal justice and psychology student who is currently the Editor-in-Chief of HC NU. While she is originally from New Jersey, she loves city life in Boston and exploring new spots whenever possible.
Outside of HC, she enjoys making Spotify playlists, thrifting, and taking excessively long naps. Taylor is passionate about writing on pop culture, music, as well as all forms of social justice advocacy.