Onion bread

Twenty ten. Midnight.

Jeff and I shared our very first midnight kiss. We were at Amy Dignan's house, celebrating the arrival of 2010 with twenty other people. The next morning, we woke up to fresh air and a whole new beginning -- 2010.

As an adventurist, I was eager to find out what 2010 would bring us, but I was patient. I lived day-to-day, enjoying life every chance I could get. The new year started off with my 24th birthday. It was then when I began to understand why women eat pints of ice cream and moan about their age going up by one digit every year. Not that I think I am staggeringly old (to quote my late grandpa on my 23rd birthday, "You're just a little baby!"), it is just that, while in a melodramatic state, I kept pondering over how I had not accomplished as much as I should have at this point in life. Before I know it, I will be 30, and what will I have done by then? Despite all that, the traveler in me was excited because being 24 only meant in one year, my auto insurance and car rental rates would drop. Plus, I would be able to brag about being "a quarter of a century old".

The agony of becoming older relocated to the backburner when I found out that the growing lump behind my right knee was a tumor. I spent the first four months of the year in and out of the hospital (and the dermatologist's office, but that is another story.) They ran many tests on me (X-rays, ultrasounds, MRIs, and CAT scans) until the beginning of April, when the doctor finally surgically removed the tumor. To my relief, it turned out to be benign.

"Let's not stop worrying just yet," the doctor said. "There is a 50% chance it will grow back, and this time it could be cancerous." He then suggested radiation therapy, but was quick to add that radiation could cause scarring, limit the mobility in my right knee, and trigger cancer in the future. After thinking about it for a few days, I decided that I did not want anything foreign like radiation running through my young and healthy body and that the chance of the tumor not growing back was high enough to give me hope. I figured that I'd just depend on luck and luck alone.

All I could do is wait, wait, and wait. So I waited.

In the middle of July, I embarked on a journey across America with Jeff, Frank, Smaltz, and Steve. We drove on Route 66 through Illinois, Missouri, Oklahoma, and Texas. We stopped in Amarillo and had the best steak of our lives. We left Texas when the sun set, and we were in the east side of Arizona when the sun rose and shone light on the vast mountains that stretched far beyond the horizon. Having never seen a mountain before in his life, Jeff's jaw dropped and he marveled over the beautiful raw land mother nature had bestowed upon Arizona. We took a scenic detour to the Grand Canyon, then went to the Hoover Dam. Our last stop was Las Vegas, where we stayed for five days. On the fifth day, we packed up our bags and started our nonstop journey northbound then eastbound through Utah, Colorado, Nebraska, Iowa, and finally Illinois. We arrived back in Chicago richer in experience and with many stories to tell. I was thrilled to have had the chance to see some of America from the road.

In the beginning of August, a high-end baking supply company offered me a full-time position as a coordinator. On my first day, I showed up completely deaf. I had lived out every person's worst nightmare -- a month before, I was in the bathroom with a q-tip in my good ear, the ear I can actually hear out of, when I slipped and fell against the wall, sending the q-tip squarely through my eardrum. Fast forward to the first day of work. I was standing there, not understanding a word anyone said. They were smiling at me, introducing themselves and attempting small talk, but all I could see was a bunch of flapping lips. It was just like watching TV on mute without subtitles, only I was at my new job, meeting everybody for the first time. It was the most awkward day of my life. To my joy and immense relief, my hearing fully regained five weeks later, in the middle of September.

On November 11th, Jeff and I celebrated our one year anniversary. He cooked a delicious dinner and we ate next to the fireplace at his house. We spent the evening marveling over the fact that a year had already passed. He gave me the most beautiful and unique gift ever -- a star in the sky.

In the end of November, I went back to the hospital pretty convinced that the tumor had grown back because I had been enduring a lot of pain in my knee. After they ran an MRI on me, the doctor looked at the pictures and said that my knee was completely healthy -- the tumor did not grow back. The good news had me smiling nonstop for the rest of the day. I was overjoyed that this whole situation had not turned out to be a terrible ordeal, but only a bump in the road.

For months, I looked for the perfect place to live. The search ended when I found Lake Tahoe. In December, I flew to Reno, rented a car, and drove around Lake Tahoe for three days. Tucked away in the mountains three thousand feet above Reno, Lake Tahoe was a beautiful, clean, and quiet place peppered with cabins, small towns, and a multitude of year-round recreational activities. I was blown away by the views. While standing on a turnaround off Route 50, watching the sun set behind the snow-covered mountains, I promised myself that I would try my best to move there.

Twenty ten was a good year. In addition to playing countless games of poker, taking mini vacations all over the Midwest, spending time with my grandma, visiting steakhouses, and seeing Jupiter in the sky, my bond with Jeff grew stronger than ever. I entered 2010 not knowing at all what to expect, so the year has been full of surprises. I am very eager to see what 2011 will bring me.

Tonight, when the clock strikes midnight, I will be in a bar in Frankfort with friends. Jeff and I will share a kiss, starting off the new year that will be summed up in a post exactly one year from now that will begin with...

Two thousand eleven. Midnight.